Harry Potter and the Pretty Sorcerors Balls
by C.T.Thomas
Summary: What if Harry Potter was really REALLY flamboyantly gay? Complete
1. The Vanishing Glass

__

Hello,

I write for pleasure (because habitually pulling my own hair out is absolutely delightful) and until "Harry Potter and the Pretty Sorcerer's Balls" have always stuck to original works. 

"HP and the PSB" is kind of a practice piece for me, an exercise in character development without having to worry about the rest of it. My main problem with my writing has always been keeping the characters in character without sacrificing my story line. With what I've done in 'Pretty Sorcerer's Balls' I'm forced to keep Harry 'flaming' while keeping the remaining characters as they are. The story begins pretty much as the book, with little add-ins here and there. For the sake of readability, I have omitted quotation marks distinguishing J.K.Rowling's work from my own. As the story progresses, more and more of the authentic story will change - simply because it will have to. I will continue to pull text from the book wherever applicable - in part because I'm attempting to cultivate laze as an art form - but also to force myself to keep the other characters in check.

I write this entirely because I want to, so you are welcome to review if you wish but it is absolutely not necessary to do so. I won't hold back chapters or anything like that! For the first 5 chapters or so you can probably expect a new one each day or two. After that I'm sure to begin procrastinating and as such, a new chapter can be expected perhaps every week.

In case it's unclear, I own some really nice shoes and a sense of entitlement, You-Know-Who, owns everything else.

Enjoy!

****

Chapter Two – The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front garden and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living-room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantel piece showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bobble hats – but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large, blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house too.

Yet Harry Potter was still there, smiling peacefully at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia (or the Yellow Tuna as Harry thought of her) was awake and it was her shrill voice which made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry jumped, shaken out of his reverie with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker. He eased back onto his bed, shutting the contraband magazine in his hands and stuffing it under the mattress. The leather clad man on the cover seated astride a menacing yet beautifully crafted motorcycle reminded him of the dream he had been having earlier in the morning. It had been a good one, and in fact it had inspired the outfit he planned for the day. There had been a flying motorbike in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before. Granted he had many dreams featuring men on motorbikes but the flying bit was something special, inspiring a strange feeling of deja-vu.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Harry. In truth, he had been up for over an hour already. He treasured the Dursley free moments he was awarded in the mornings and made an effort to awaken as early as possible so as to fully utilise each and every minute. He would take this time to enjoy his leisure activities in peace, away from the blubbery smirks from Dudley or Uncle Vernon's disgusted sneers. 

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the breakfast. And don't you dare put anything less than 100% effort towards it, I want everything perfect on Dudley's birthday."

Harry grinned behind the door with visions of the upcoming breakfast fare dancing in his mind but uttered the obligatory groan of dissatisfaction. 

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…" Harry answered forcing back his grin. He knew that in order to maintain his free reign in the kitchen, he must ensure that the Dursleys felt that he viewed these duties as a punishment and not a privilege. 

Dudley's birthday – Harry had been planning this menu for weeks. He eased off of his bed slowly so as not to bump his head accidentally on the low ceiling and started looking one last time for his recipe for crème anglaise. He found it under his bed and, after pulling a spider off the corner of the recipe card, glanced over the directions one last time. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept. 

When he had reviewed the birthday menu (and added the last touches to his motorcycle inspired outfit) he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table and the festive setting Harry had laid out the previous night was almost completely hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had got the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise – unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favourite punch-bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age, which was just fine with him. All he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Luckily for him his smallness and Dudley's largeness gave him plenty of extra fabric to work with when altering and tailoring the hand me downs. Had Harry been the size of a normal healthy boy his age, he didn't think he'd have half as much success with the alterations. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Sellotape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. He had taken to affixing a small daisy to the bridge and stems of the glasses to detract from the Sellotape but was forced to remove them when Uncle Vernon snapped that it was making him cross eyed. Aside from his small size, the thing Harry liked most about his appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember and the first question he could ever remember asking the Yellow Tuna was how he had got it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. After Harry's inquiry whether he had a Mom and a Dad or maybe he had two Dad's instead, the first rule for a quiet life at the Dursleys was established: Don't ask questions. 

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was rolling the crepes. 

"Wash that pansy crap out of your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. With force and choice combined, Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, either his hair was entirely unruly or gelled into place. Neither condition pleased his uncle.

Harry was poaching the eggs for Eggs Benedict by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick, blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. The Yellow Tuna often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a fat Miss Piggy.

Harry put the dishes of crepes, glazed berries, crème anglaise, Eggs Benedict, hollandaise sauce, shaved ham (in honour of Miss Piggy's big day), and triangular toasts on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

"And you haven't counted the birthday spankings you're sure to get from that Polkiss friend of yours, that's a gift in itself wouldn't you say?" Harry could sense a huge Dudley tantrum coming on and much preferred a shout fest from Uncle Vernon than see all his breakfast efforts destroyed with an overturned table from Dudley.

The Yellow Tuna stepped in before Uncle Vernon's red face could erupt. "There will be no birthday spankings from _anyone!_ We'll buy you another _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?" Evidently the fear of Dudley receiving birthday spankings outweighed both Harry's impudence and the price of the additional gifts.

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty … thirty …"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said The Yellow Tuna.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon's red face subsided.

At that moment the telephone rang and the Yellow Tuna went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off an, in Harry's opinion, very unfashionable gold wristwatch when the Yellow Tuna came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the cinema. Every year Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a sweet, if slightly mad, old lady who lived two streets away. While Harry loved the time he spent there, playing with her many cats, dressing up in her trunk of old clothes, or baking in her kitchen, he longed to visit what he thought of as the outside world, anywhere out of the 4 block radius to which he was normally confined.

"Now what?" said the Yellow Tuna, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry felt sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it was still all he could do to keep from squealing with delight at the prospect of going into the city.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there – or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug. 

"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"

"On holiday in Majorca, " snapped the Yellow Tuna.

"You could drop me off somewhere and pick me up on your way back," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to wander about the city on his own, going in and out of whatever shops and boutiques he pleased).

The Yellow Tuna looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And find you up to your mischief and bringing even more shame to this family?" she snarled.

"I can stay out of mischief," said Harry, though the Dursleys and he had varying ideas about what mischief was. They weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said the Yellow Tuna slowly, "… and leave him in the car …"

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone …"

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying, it had been years since he'd really cried, but he knew that if he displayed such _girlish_ behaviour, especially after Harry's spanking comment earlier, his mother would worry that he was becoming _that way_ and give him whatever he wanted to make it stop.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I … don't … want … him … t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mothers arms. Harry rolled his eyes and let out an indignant humph. Without him, Dudley would still be a present shy of his last years total, and this is how he showed his thanks!

Just then, the doorbell rang – "Oh, Good Lord, they're here!" said the Yellow Tuna frantically – and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who was positively giddy at his luck was awaiting Uncle Vernon's verdict regarding the seating arrangements in the back seat. Still smarting with the birthday spanking comment, Uncle Vernon was unsure whether he trusted the newly labelled 'Polkiss pansy' who's hair was entirely too long for his taste, sitting next to his boy. He settled on Piers in the middle – where he could keep an eye on him, flanked by Dudley and Harry. Before they'd left, he took Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's. "I'm warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"Oh hush," Harry lightly batted a hand at him, "I'm not going to have a hair out of place," he opened his eyes wide and pushed out his bottom lip to illustrate that it was completely ridiculous to worry.

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and as he was strange enough already it was no good telling the Dursleys that he didn't make them happen. 

Once, the Yellow Tuna, tired of Harry coming back from the barber's looking as though he hadn't been at all or had visited the salon instead, had taken Uncle Vernon's beard trimmer and set to giving him a military styled crew cut to make him a proper boy. Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for playing jump rope with the girls and his selection of home economics in lieu of shop class. Next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before the Yellow Tuna had sheared it off. He had been given a week in the cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he _couldn't_ explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, the Yellow Tuna had been trying to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudley's (brown with orange bobbles – Harry's absolute worst colour!). The harder she tried to pull the enormous garment over his head the smaller it became and the more elongated the orange bobbles grew, until finally it was a snug fitting brown jumper with a sleek orange belt. The colours were still all wrong for his complexion but the jumper itself was nonetheless very stylish. The Yellow Tuna had decided she must have confused it with one of her own old sweaters and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished nor was the stylish jumper confiscated.

On the other hand, he'd got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens with an armful of unfamiliar pants. Dudley's gang had been calling him names and chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's chagrin as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney holding 5 pairs of pants. Dudley and his band of hoodlums were left bare-bottomed and furious. The Dursleys received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been leading boys astray with inappropriate games and in addition, had been climbing school buildings. 

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day in the city.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to the Yellow Tuna. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorbikes.

" … roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said as a motorbike overtook them.

"I had a wonderful dream about a motorbike," said Harry, remembering again suddenly. 

"I don't want to hear another one of your motorbike men stories!" Uncle Vernon broke in having heard the words 'engine' and 'leather' together in one sentence too many.

"It wasn't like that," Harry giggled, "the motorbike was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a moustache, "MOTORBIKES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"Well shoo, aren't you a bright one?" Harry cooed sarcastically pursing his lips, knowing there was only so much Uncle Vernon could do or shout while driving and in front of a guest. "Of course they don't fly, it was a dream."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his being _that way_, it was talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even in a cartoon – they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas and lead poor Dinkydums even further astray.

It was a sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice-creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked the wide eyed Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a lemon ice slushy, one of the cheapest items on the menu, second only to the frozen fruit Popsicle's on a stick which the Dursleys wouldn't have allowed Harry to indulge in even had they been free.

Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that he wouldn't become the object of amusement for Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunch-time, and now entertained themselves by shoving each other toward animal cages. He enjoyed the looks Uncle Vernon kept shooting towards Piers Polkiss, ensuring that the rough-housing was just boys being boys and nothing _unnatural_. 

They ate in the zoo restaurant. Dudley began to wolf down his gargantuan lunch and sniggered at the small size of Harry's junior knickerbocker.

"But I thought you said you liked that I was so petite? I have to watch my figure." Uncle Vernon bought him an extra large Knickerbocker Glory, then followed it with a mountainous chocolate shake. 

Harry felt, afterwards, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dustbin – but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself – no company except stupid, and rather ugly people with no fashion sense what-so-ever, drumming their sure to be grimy fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, at least he had his magazines to read and the run of the kitchen.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's. 

__

It winked.

Harry stared, at least somebody appreciated his leather look vest and bandanna belt. He looked back at the snake and winked too.

The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: _I get that all the time_.

"I know," Harry cooed through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be awful, just awful!"

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Now, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?" said Harry, pouting coyly.

The snake seemed to grin and bent its body into a shrug, "It's as good a place as any I've been to." The snake jabbed its tail at the sign and Harry read: _Boa Constrictor, bred in captivity._ Harry nodded in understanding. "It's nice to have somebody to talk to, most people are afraid of me."

"Oh I'm not afraid, I like you."

"You do?" the boa asked, flattered.

"Oh yes. You're very … bendy," Harry grinned slyly. 

The boa gave a little shake and wrapped its entire length into a multi-coiled spiral. "Are you flirting with me?" it asked flicking its tail towards Harry.

As Harry put his hand on his hip and opened his mouth to reply, a deafening shout behind him made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling towards them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened – one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The gorgeous snake snapped its head toward Dudley and uncoiling itself rapidly, slithered out of its tank and coiled itself once around Dudley's legs. It gave a menacing squeeze before making its way toward Harry.

"That'll teach him to mess with a cutie like you," it hissed.

"Run! Run!" Harry urged. The boa make its way, through the crowd of screaming people, toward the exit.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made the Yellow Tuna a cup of strong sweet tea while he apologised over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything really dangerous but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how the snake had squeezed him so hard that he had seen the white lights of death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go – cupboard – stay – no meals," (seemingly forgetting Dudley's preference for the petite) before he collapsed into a chair and the Yellow Tuna had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was but knew it was well after dinner. The Yellow Tuna had banged on the cupboard door to snap at his laziness. Claiming that he had pulled that stunt at the zoo to avoid having to make Dudley's birthday dinner. Harry groaned in earnest this time, at the thought of his lovely dinner menu being brutalised by the Yellow Tuna's inept culinary skill.


	2. The Letters from No One

****

Chapter Three - The Letters from No One

The escape of the boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. At first this suited Harry just fine as he was able to lounge on his bed reading his forbidden magazines (fashion, motorbikes, and teen), or designing and patterning new fashions from his hand-me-downs, but soon the hanging light in the cupboard went out and Vernon refused to replace it. By the time he was allowed out of the cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new cine-camera, crashed his remote control aeroplane and, first time on his racing bike, knocked down dear old Mrs Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over. Everyone knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter playing with girls in his flashy clothes and broken glasses and while none but Dudley's gang attempted to beat up on him, they were very content to ignore him completely. He had no one there and that suited him just fine. He would rather be himself and get beaten up for it then pretend to be someone different just to be accepted. 

Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house and the dark cupboard, thinking about the end of the holidays where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had a place in Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice? "  
"You're inviting me upstairs to go into the bathroom with you?" Harry questioned coyly, "My, my, I wouldn't have pegged you for that sort of scene. I suppose I should be flattered but I must say, you're rather not my type." Then he pranced out the front door before Dudley could work out what he'd said.

One day in July, the Yellow Tuna took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs Figg's. Still on crutches, she spent the day introducing Harry to her favourite soap operas while he tried out a new recipe for chocolate mousse.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living-room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats; orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. The Yellow Tuna burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Dudley turned to Harry to receive his complement. 

Harry snapped his finger in the air, "Work it girl!" Uncle Vernon glared at Harry as Dudley twirled his Smeltings stick and spun around the imaginary catwalk with all the style his overflowing body could muster.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen next morning when Harry went in to begin breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look at what was corrupting the integrity of his kitchen. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"Whatever are you doing?" he asked the Yellow Tuna. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question. 

"I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you," she said.

Harry swallowed back a wave of disgust at both the colour and the former owner, he looked in the bowl again then hiding a smirk, squealed and clapped his hands together, jumping up slightly.  
"Oh thank you Aunt Petunia! Prison grey is all the rage this season!" 

"Don't be stupid," snapped the Yellow Tuna. "This is your school uniform, it'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Harry seriously doubted this, but knew he would be pushing his luck too far by arguing. He began cooking breakfast and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High. He rarely was able to use the Yellow Tuna's sewing machine as she limited his usage to projects related to her mending or the draperies. And with school being out of session he wouldn't have a chance to fully alter his uniform until he had already begun at Stonewall. 

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smeltings stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the letter-box and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Late today. Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the post, Harry."

"Or I'll find myself on the receiving end of Dudley's Smeltings paddle I suppose?" Harry pirouetted away from the paddle in question and went to get the post, furious shouts following him to the door.

"It's not a paddle!" Uncle Vernon fumed.

Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and - _a letter for Harry_.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart fluttered like a butterfly caught in the wind. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives - he didn't belong to the library so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, the address line specifying his cupboard under the stairs! There could be no mistake.

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H.'

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter-bombs?" he chuckled at his own joke.

Harry bit back a reply about waiting for the postman to ring twice and slipped his envelope, too large for a pocket, into his trousers. He would open the letter later that day, in the privacy of his cupboard where the experience wouldn't be ruined by the Dursleys snide remarks. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard then returned to the stove to finish cooking the breakfast. 

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed the Yellow Tuna. "Ate a funny whelk …"

Harry finished putting the breakfast on the table, and had just bent over to pick up a fallen napkin when he felt a puffy hand touch the back of his pants.

"Fresh!" Harry yelped, slapping Dudley's hand away. 

Throughout breakfast, Harry noticed Dudley's eyes roaming continuously to his trouser bottoms, he knew Dudley had seen the letter. Harry slipped away from the kitchen before beginning the breakfast dishes, hoping to have secreted the letter away in his cupboard before Dudley had another crack at it. But it was not to be. He was just reaching for the latch on the cupboard door when he found himself face first on the floor trapped beneath what must certainly be a displaced whale.

"What have you got in there?" Dudley grinned wickedly, reaching into Harry's pants for the letter.

"Get off me, you brute!" Harry wailed. 

"Ahhhhh!" the Yellow Tuna's shrieks silenced Harry's protests and turned both Dudley's and Harry's heads her way. Horrified at the sight of her Dinky Duddykins not just straddling that miscreant child but with a hand tucked into his pants, the Yellow Tuna slumped to the floor in a faint. 

Dudley laboured to his feet, Harry scrambled to his. They faced the purple steaming face of Uncle Vernon for one full second before Dudley sprinted, faster than fatly possible, up the stairs to his bedroom, and Harry dashed into his cupboard. His letter was gone.

Once Uncle Vernon had calmed, the situation was quickly cleared up. Dudley explained that he had seen an envelope hidden in Harry's pants and thought he had snitched perfume samples from one of his mum's magazines again. Harry was brought out of the cupboard with a gruff, "Get dinner ready, boy." 

Breakfast the next morning started as it usually did, with one exception. 

"Has the post arrived? Why don't I get it?" said Uncle Vernon with a forced smile, putting down his paper. He did not want a repeat of yesterday's events. He returned to the table and began sorting through the mail. Harry noticed a heavy looking envelope - the same as the one he had received, and lost, the previous day. 

"For _moi_?" Harry asked, reaching for the envelope, knowing that any hope of reading it privately had already been lost.

"As though anyone would write to you!" sneered Uncle Vernon, waving the letter tauntingly. He gasped. "It _is_ for you!" He opened the envelope quickly.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed. "That's mine!"

Uncle Vernon shook the letter open with one hand, while fending off Harry's grabs for it with the other. He uttered the first few words under his breath and with that one glance, his face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the greyish white of slept in pancake makeup. 

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

The Yellow Tuna took the letter curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint for the second time in as many days. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness - Vernon!"

Before Harry could say a word Uncle Vernon had both him and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks. He hauled Harry into his cupboard and wrestled Dudley upstairs to his bedroom. Harry slowed down his breathing so he could hear every possible scrap of the ensuing conversation.

"Vernon," the Yellow Tuna was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address - how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching - might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"Should we move him? Dudley's spare room maybe?"

"What for? They already know he's in the cupboard."

"What should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want - "

"Write? And sent it where? And how?" Uncle Vernon interrupted, "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer … yes, that's best … we won't do anything …"

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" Harry could hear Uncle Vernon pacing, now in the kitchen. "It'll be fine Petunia," he continued. "The letter says '_We await your owl,'" _Uncle Vernon choked slightly, "'_by no later than 31 July._' That's one week from now. Once that passes and they don't hear from us it'll all be over."

The next morning Harry awoke extra early. He had received letters two days in a row, if he had any luck at all he might get a third chance at it. He just needed to reach the post before anyone was the wiser. He dressed silently and began easing open the cupboard door - only to find that it had been latched and padlocked. The cupboard was only locked when he was being punished. Uncle Vernon had clearly locked him in to make sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He waited a few minutes wondering what was going on, the Dursleys couldn't possibly be this upset over the prospect of Harry corresponding with someone. After another few minutes he heard the tell tale sound of the post being delivered. A minute later the padlock on the cupboard door was removed. 

Harry heard Uncle Vernon's and the Yellow Tuna's footsteps go past the cupboard and up the stairs. He listened closely as another frantic conversation began.

"They must have known he hadn't received his letter!" the Yellow Tuna exclaimed.

"They're not just following us - they're spying. Must have bugged the house." Uncle Vernon was muttering savagely. There was a moment of silence. 

"What do we do, Vernon?" 

"We'll keep waiting. It's just a few days until the deadline. It'll just be a few more letters."

"But … what if yesterday wasn't the first? What if that's what he was hiding? He may have a letter already! Or - oh God! What if Dudley's taken it?" 

"Dudley's a good boy, he would have given it to us … still, we'll search his room … If Harry has it … we'll just have to keep him in the house to ensure he can't contact them. He'll keep in his cupboard until the 31st and everything will be fine … yes … that's right … it will all be fine." Uncle Vernon continued to mutter nonsensically until Harry could no longer make out words. 

Harry spent the day monitored closely by the Yellow Tuna. He wasn't allowed to be alone unless he was in the bathroom or his cupboard. He stayed in the cupboard most of the day, analysing the eavesdropped conversations. 

Three days in a row they had tried to contact him. They knew somehow that he hadn't received his letters. Uncle Vernon had read the first few words of the letter under his breath that first day, what had he said? Harry hadn't heard the words but had seen him mouth 'school' for sure. What else had he seen? Something like 'ho' - could that mean? Could it possibly be? The people sending him letters were from a school for people who were ho … _that way_? Perhaps the headmistress or a teacher from his former school had contacted someone. The seal on the letter was an 'H' - so that must be it! And Uncle Vernon did mentioned something about vowing to 'stamp out that dangerous nonsense' once they took him in. In spite of the tingle of excitement running through him, Harry had to sniff in contention at Uncle Vernon's choice of words. A bit unconventional sure, but dangerous? Harry was determined to get his hands on those letters.

The days past slowly, each beginning with Harry locked in his cupboard until after the post had arrived. The School for Boys Who Were _That Way_ continued to try to contact him, apparently now using very uncustomary methods of post delivery: sending multiple letters and sliding them not just through the slot but under the front and back doors and through the bathroom window one day, somehow rolling them up and hiding them inside each of the two dozen eggs delivered to the house the next. Harry was forced to wait in his cupboard until the house had been thoroughly searched and all letters disposed of. Harry knew his only chance at replying in time lay with Dudley. He hoped against hope that he still had that first letter.

"Dudley," Harry whispered while doing that nights dinner dishes. 

Dudley looked up from the refrigerator door. "What do you want?" he sneered.

"Hush now," Harry cooed, "keep your voice down." 

His interest piqued, Dudley chubbed his way to the sink. "What?" he whispered back.

"Do you still have that letter?" Harry asked sweetly.

"… They took it." Harry's face fell. "I looked in my room the next day but it was gone."

"Did they say anything about it?"

"They just asked if I had read it."

"And had you?"

"No." Dudley looked at the floor in apparent, and not oft seen, shame. "It was cursive and that's too hard." Harry couldn't bring himself to damn the fat boy for his stupidity. 

"That's all right, Dudley." Harry said gently.

"I think it's brought by owls, you know." Dudley offered.

"What?!" Uncle Vernon had said something about owls '_we await your owl no later than 31 July_' that was it. 

"Yeah," Dudley continued, feeling very pleased with himself for compensating for his lack of ability with information. "We've had owls outside the house for days, the news crew was here yesterday and did a story on it." 

Later in his cupboard, Harry wrote a hopeful and hopefully impressive letter, and slipped it through the crack between the cupboard door and the floor. With a promise to cook Dudley's favourite meals and desserts for the rest of the summer, Dudley had agreed to smuggle the note out to one of the owls outside the house. At worst, the idea of post delivery owls was as cracked as it sounded and Dudley would have his fingers nipped by whatever owl he approached. He was only slightly worried that Dudley would snitch on him and take the letter to Uncle Vernon - which would result in being locked in the cupboard, but as he was already locked in the cupboard anyway, it didn't seem a great risk. 

No letters arrived the next morning. Harry was let out of his cupboard with suspicion however, as Uncle Vernon and the Yellow Tuna were unsure if the onslaught of letters had truly subsided or if the senders were up to something. Uncle Vernon opted to stay home from work that day just in case. By dinner, both Uncle Vernon and the Yellow Tuna seemed very pleased with themselves.

"What did I tell you Pet?" Uncle Vernon boasted, "Just wait it out I said." 

The Yellow Tuna beamed at him.

Dudley rustled through the snack shelf in the pantry loudly, in an obvious attempt to be elusive. His features contorted into an expression that had never graced his face before, "I was thinking," he began, as surprised as Harry to hear himself utter those words. "I was thinking, who on earth wants to talk to _you_ this badly?" 

Harry shrugged, he didn't want to tell Dudley about The School For Boys Who Were _That Way_, if he didn't have to. 

"What kind of freaks use _owls _to send their post? The kind who'd want to talk to you I guess." Dudley laughed at his wit. 

Harry had waited long enough. "So?" he inquired.

"Oh, right. I held the note out to one of the owls and it bit it and flew away. Then all the other owls flew away too. None came back today either."

It was done. Now all he could do was wait. 

Harry had a sleepless night. He glanced at the battered alarm clock he had found in Dudley's garbage 2 years ago, now housed at his bedside (taped to the wall actually). In just 10 minutes it would be the 31st of July. Would his note reach them in time, would they respond? With a start he realised that in 10 minutes it would be his 11th birthday! With all the hoopla about the letters he had completely forgot it was coming up. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all. He knew though that if they did remember, they would simply ignore it just as they had each year before.

Five minutes to go. He would cook something special that day though, maybe even make himself a cake. 

Three minutes to go. He'd wear something extra special as well, he'd start planning his outfit straight away.

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds … twenty … ten - nine - maybe he'd duplicate the birthday breakfast he'd made for Dudley's birthday, just to annoy them - three - two - one - 

"Happy birthday Harry," he greeted himself aloud. Eleven year old Harry Potter turned the light back off in his cupboard and finally fell asleep.


	3. The Keeper of the Keys

****

Chapter Four - The Keeper Of The Keys

Harry's birthday was marked by the Dursleys' return to their usual routine.

"Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the post, Harry."

Harry hesitated for a moment then left his place by the stove and retrieved the day's mail. There were a couple of bills for Uncle Vernon and a sample. 

"Tea samples," the Yellow Tuna said with interest. "Let's try them out then." 

Harry eyed the tea bags with distaste but prepared the tea for the Dursleys before returning to the stove to test the sausages. When he returned to the table he dropped the platter of eggs and sausage to the floor. The three Dursleys were slumped in their seats. 

A noise came from the front door; someone was entering the house!

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, when, on his way to the nearest telephone (to ring the authorities), he saw standing in the front door, the largest man he had ever seen.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the house, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. 

"Yeh must be Harry." The giant spoke.

Harry saw in the giants' hands an envelope, just like the ones Uncle Vernon had confiscated and destroyed. He had a strange feeling that The School For Boys Who Were _That Way_ … well, wasn't. He looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw yeh, yeh was only a baby," the giant spoke again. "Yeh look a lot like yer da', but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

Despite his fear and the likely dead relatives sitting in the kitchen, Harry's curiosity was piqued at this remark.

"You knew my parents?"

"As good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew, they were."

Harry stared at the giant dumbfounded. "…Witch … you're mad." The realisation hit him swiftly. "You've killed the Dursleys, haven't you?" he accused, still stunned. 

"Killed? Gulping Gargoyles, Harry. It was just a potion, they'll be up by the evening none the wiser." The giant sensed Harry's disbelief. "Go on, give 'em a poke then."

Harry ventured forth, steeling himself to check on the condition of the Dursleys. He leaned in to look, not wanting to touch them if he didn't have to. They certainly seemed to be breathing. Harry chanced a gingerly poke to Uncle Vernon's side, he snorted, then shifted, then remained still once again. With a glint in his eyes, Harry poked him again, somewhat harder this time.

"See? Good as new in a couple o' hours. Now come on, let's get goin'"

Fears allayed, Harry quickly regained his spunk. "Honey," he said, flabbergasted. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

The giant looked hurt and taken aback. "Well aren't yeh a dainty one?" he said, his grin returning. "Well if we're not goin' anywhere …" the giant strode over to the sofa in the living-room which sagged dangerously under his weight. "Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? Not what they've been drinking, mind," the giant chuckled, then sighed. "It's not been an easy journey …"

Not knowing what else to do, Harry retreated to the kitchen to make that tea. 

"Ta, good on yeh," the giant said, acknowledging the salad bowl of tea Harry served him. "Oi!" he exclaimed suddenly, sloshing the tea around the bowl. "I almost forgot!" From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. "Got sommat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right. Anyway - Harry, a very happy birthday to yeh."

Harry opened the box with a combination of apprehension and glee. No one had ever - _ever _- wished him a happy birthday, much less given him a birthday gift! Inside the box was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry_ written on it in green icing. Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words were trapped behind the teary sniff of a boy whose only birthday gift ever was just delivered by a possibly homicidal, probably unsound, positively enormous ruffian. "Who are you?" he finally managed.

The giant chuckled again.

"I haven't even introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." 

Hogwarts, so that was what the 'H' stood for. Harry hid his disappointment at this finding and reached out to have his whole arm shaken by the enormous hand held out by one Rubeus Hagrid.

The pair snacked on cake and tea in silence for a few minutes. Finally, as it didn't seem Rubeus Hagrid was about to explain anything, Harry said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm keeper of keys at Hogwarts - yeh know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Well no." Harry answered, pouting slightly. He had thought he knew, but alas.

Hagrid looked astonished. "But - but," he stammered. "Yeh sent the note." Hagrid rummaged through his numerous pockets until he finally found what he was looking for. "Professor McGonagall got this yesterday." He flattened Harry's note onto the table and read it to himself under his breath.

__

To Whom It May Concern:

My relatives are a bit conservative and are keeping me from the letters you have been sending. I am very interested in your school but am unable to send a proper reply as I don't know exactly what you've sent me. I will be starting Stonewall Academy in September (address at end of letter) if possible, please re-send the letter to that address in the fall. If all goes well perhaps I could transfer schools mid-term or next year.

I appreciate your efforts in contacting me but please stop sending the letters here; they are making my relatives crazy.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

"Yes," Harry agreed. "I sent that so I could get more information. I didn't expect someone to show up all hot and bothered."

Hagrid seemed to relax. "Well they had to send someone didn't they? Can't have yeh startin' late, that Stonewall place can't teach yeh wha' yeh need ta know, yeh'd be a year behind, wouldn't yeh?"

"I'm sorry, big fella, but I don't understand."

"Well Stonewall's is a muggle school. Blimey Harry, yeh don't think yer mum and da' just figured it all out on their own."

"Figured all what out?" asked Harry.

"**ALL WHAT?**" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He had leaped to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole living-room. "Do you mean to tell me that yeh know nothin' about **ANYTHING?**"

"Well see here," Harry thought this was going much too far. He put his hand on his hip and continued. "I can make a souffle like nobody's business, not to mention doing my maths and science. I may be rough around the edges but I'm not unschooled!"

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About _our_ world, I mean. _Yer_ world. _My_ world. _Yer parents' world._"

"What world?"

Hagrid stared wildly at Harry. 

Harry knew this look and stepped back a pace or two. "I'm sorry," he said.

"_Sorry?_" barked Hagrid, "it's them as should be sorry!" he waved toward the dozing Dursleys. "McGonagall said yeh weren't getting' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know about Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud!" He became still. "Yeh don' know what yer parents were do ya? Yeh don't know what _you_ are." Hagrid sat back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower. He mumbled to himself, "They never told him … Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him … I saw Dumbledore leave it and they've been keeping it from him all these years …"

"Keeping _what_ from me?" said Harry, exasperated.

"Harry, yer a wizard - an' no, I'm not mad. I'm a wizard, yer mum and da' were wizards, and yer one too … An' a thumpin' good'un I'd say once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' da' like yours, what else would yeh be?" 

Harry was looking at Hagrid like he had just stuck his head in the chocolate cake and doused his crotch with the salad bowl of tea. He didn't feel like he was in any real danger, if the giant had wanted to hurt him, he would likely have done so already, but really, this man was clearly missing the lace-ups in his corset. 

Hagrid saw the disbelief on Harry's face. He arose from the sofa once more, drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat and looked about the house. Spotting the spilled breakfast platter, he motioned Harry to the kitchen and held out his umbrella. With a jumble of words and a flash of violet light, the eggs and sausage leaped back into the plate and the plate up onto the table.

Harry stood with his hands to his gaping mouth. 

"A wizard, Harry." 

"But me?" Harry whispered, breathless. " … That's impossible."

"Come on Harry, haven't you ever made things happen that shouldn't a' happened? Maybe when you was scared, or angry?"

Harry thought for a moment. Now he came to think about it … "And Uncle Vernon and the Tuna knew all along?" 

"It's damn righ' they knew." So that's what the Dursleys had wanted to stamp out of him all this time? Harry supposed they hoped that _that_ would be stamped out in the bargain.

"So Hogwarts is for wizards, then."

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, that's righ'. That's where yer parents wanted yeh to go, and it's where yeh'll go if yeh want to."

Harry nodded his head still dumbfounded. The School for Boys and Girls Who Were **That Way**, But Not Necessarily _That Way_. It beat Stonewall in any case.

"Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school." Hagrid waited for Harry to put on his jacket and grab his shoulder bag. "Get yer feet firm on the ground," Hagrid thrust his hand into a pocket of his overcoat, "and grab hold o' this." 

Harry's eyes widened in astonishment and delight, before Hagrid excavated the rolled up newspaper that had caught under his coat, now extended towards him. 

"It's a portkey, bring us straigh' to the alley." 

Harry's eyes widened again before he was distracted by the feeling that a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards. His feet had left the ground; they were speeding forwards in a howl of wind and swirling colour; his hand was stuck to the rolled up newspaper as though it was pulling him magnetically onwards and then -

His feet slammed into the ground; Hagrid shuffled backward to keep his balance and reached a hand out to steady Harry whose nimble feet were not enough to keep him upright.

They had landed on the edge of a cobbled street that twisted and turned in all directions. 

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."


	4. Diagon Alley

****

Chapter Five - Diagon Alley

Harry's first surprise in the wizarding realm was the seemingly normal height and bulk range of the wizards and witches bustling about. He had expected them all to stand at least somewhat close to Hagrid's height. Not wanting to discomfort his new friend, Harry kept this observation to himself. 

"Firs' things firs'," said Hagrid. "Business for Dumbledore." 

"Who's Dumbledore?" Harry was now twisting and turning like a cat in the tumble dry, wishing he had about eight more eyes. He gawked in every direction as they walked up the street, feeling he would burst with all he took in.

"Who's Dumbledore?!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Professor Dumbledore's only the greatest wizard of our time, Harry, headmaster of Hogwarts he is. Sending us to Gringotts."

"What's Gringotts?" 

"Wizards' bank," Hagrid answered. "Run by goblins." An hour earlier, Harry would have said with surety that the giant man was a lunatic, making a statement like that. Now he merely squealed gleefully.

"_Goblins?!_ Heavens to Betsy, how dreadful!"

"Nah, goblins aren' so bad, yeh'll see. Still, goblins is goblins and they take things serious, so mind yeh never cross one."

"Why are we going there?" Harry struggled to keep up with Hagrid's long strides without falling over himself still looking every which way. Twice already, his eye had lingered too long on the dashing young men going about their day, and Hagrid had had to remind him to keep his eyes on the cobblestones.

"Like I said, fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' yeh - getting things from Gringotts - knows he can trust me, see." 

"He doesn't mind me coming with you?" Harry inquired.

"Bah, it's fine." he answered. "Besides, we've got ter visit yer safe anyway, get yeh a bit of money fer yer supplies."

Harry's eyes lit up with surprise at the mention of his having a safe but they soon dimmed when he thought of something which made him feel as though the dancing queen inside him had twisted an ankle.

"Hagrid," he started with a teary sniff, "safe or not, I haven't any money."

"Oh Harry," Hagrid smiled, "d'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh with nothin'? Yer the last living Potter, heir to the family fortune."

Harry eyes widened in shock, and he wondered if the Dursleys desire to stamp the magic out of him extended to his bank vault. He wouldn't have been the least surprised to find the safe empty.

They continued to walk, and as Harry became more accustomed to the myriad of new and exciting things around him, he began to pay closer attention to the myriad of new and exciting people. To his dismay, he noticed them, pointedly noticing him as well. He grew very quiet.

"What's wrong little dainty?" Harry's eyes perked up at his new title. Unlike Uncle Vernon, Hagrid hadn't once sneered at his, well, not being a proper boy, and undoubtedly used this nickname with fondness. But the enormous man, was clearly an oddball as well, and from the looks he was getting from the people around him, his acceptance was also an anomaly. 

"Oh nothing," Harry sighed heavily. "But it's like they can spot me right away, and they don't like it. I thought maybe things would be different away from the Dursleys but I guess it just isn't."

"Oh Harry, they're just looking at yer clothes, they're muggle style - er - non magic folk that is - and they're not used to that aroun' here."

Harry nodded slowly, he's outfit did seem out of place, but still …

"Now look here little dainty, I don't know what those muggles have been tellin' yer but it's just muggles who think it!" Hagrid pulled him aside and squatted down so he only towered over Harry by a few heads. "There's nothin' wrong with the way yeh are, not when yer here anyway."

"… Magic people don't mind … that sort of thing?" Harry whispered cautiously, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Harry," Hagrid began gently, "there've been countless inter - uh - well, lotsa cases o' wizards and witches marryin' creatures that aren' even _human_. Some may frown a bit on that but most don' say much. So wizards and wizards is as alrigh' as the next. Don't help with keepin' up our numbers though, that's the only real complaint. Yer a good boy, Harry, and don' yeh forget it." 

Harry's eyes glistened with joyful tears.

"Come now, we've got business to take care of." And with that, they strode, heads held high - Harry with an extra prance in his step - to the snowy-white monolith of a building, Gringotts, the wizard bank.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the lavish entrance and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools, busy as bees behind a long counter. Hagrid and Harry approached quickly.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?" the goblin urged.

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog-biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. 

Harry was questioning the presence of the dog-biscuits when his thoughts returned to what he might - or might not - find in his bank safe. He muffled a squeak at the dead frog and live dormouse Hagrid had just deposited onto the counter, and distracted himself by watching the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals. Elizabeth Taylor would have swooned, Harry clutched his chest.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, turning Harry's attention back to the counter and saving him a moment of embarrassment as his knees were threatening to buckle. "An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully, Harry raised up on his tiptoes, and did what he could to surreptitiously read the words through the paper. Feeling dumb as Dudley, he struggled with the spidery, opaque, backward, letters.

"Very well," the goblin said, handing the letter back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin, though younger and rather more dapper than most of the others in Gringotts. "This way Mr Potter," he invited, bowing his head slightly.

Harry skipped with his daintiest steps to catch up to the gracious goblin. "This way, indeed!" he giggled, all concern for the state of his vault forgotten. 

Griphook led them towards one of the doors leading off the hall. He held the door open for Harry, who, expecting more marble, was more than a bit surprised at what stood before him. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there were little railway tracks on the floor. 

Harry laced his arm through Griphooks, "This must be the spookiest place I've ever been!" he whimpered. 

"Not to worry Mr Potter." Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. The trio climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty, Harry with Griphooks assistance - and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages, Harry kept his head firmly pressed into Griphook's arm, emitting shrill sounds of ail at each particularly sharp turn.

By the time the cart had stopped - and Harry had been prised from Griphook's arm - Hagrid was looking very green. He had to lean against a wall when they got out to stop his knees trembling. Harry however, was jumping up and down with anticipation, showing no signs of his earlier anxiety.

Hagrid leaned close to Harry and grinned, "I'm guessin' yer weren't so frightened as yeh'd have us think." He whispered.

Harry grinned guiltily behind his hand.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came bellowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold, silver and bronze coins.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

Much to Hagrid and Griphook's amusement, Harry, unable to stop himself, dove into the pile of money headfirst. He squealed with glee and threw coins into the air. It was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than a finger snap. 

"All right, little Dainty," Hagrid stopped his play finally, "we don't want the Dursleys wakin' up before yer returned, best be getting' on." Hagrid helped Harry pile some gold, silver, and bronze into his shoulder bag while explaining the names and values distinguishing the coins. 

They made their way back into the cart and sped deeper and deeper into Gringotts underground tunnels. 

They stopped suddenly at their destination.

Unlike the Potter family vault, vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyholes.

"Stand back," said Griphook. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it shimmered slightly. "There's something wrong here," he informed venomously.

A black cloaked figure burst from the shimmering door, crashing hard into Griphook, knocking the goblin into the side of the cart, he slumped to the floor. The cloaked figure gasped in shock and in an instant had armed itself with a slim stick about the length of a ruler. Hagrid charged at the figure causing it to drop a small package it had been carrying. With a flash of light much like the one that came from Hagrid's umbrella earlier, Hagrid's legs had collapsed beneath him. 

Harry saw the desperate look in Hagrid's eyes when the small package went flying. It was evident that 'it' was the important bit of business Professor Dumbledore had sent him to retrieve. Headfirst, Harry dove again, and almost instantly felt himself being manhandled by the cloaked figure, in its effort to reach the package first.

Harry wrestled with the ferocity of a perpetual bridesmaid trying to catch the bouquet. His hands closed around the parcel which he tucked into his pants in a flash, and locked himself in the foetal position, arms wrapped around his legs. The bandit was upon him, strong, vicious hands clawing, struggling to pry his arms and legs from the treasure encased between. Suddenly the weight ceased, Harry lifted his head to see Hagrid holding the cloaked man by the neck. Another bright flash lit the dark passage, and Hagrid stumbled back. The would be thief had fled.

"You saved me!" Harry squealed, clapping his hands. 

Hagrid hoisted Griphook to his feet, then turned back to an exhilarated Harry. "Yeh still got the package?" he questioned with notable worry.

Harry wiggled his hips, then did a skip and a dance with his right leg. After a moment, the parcel slipped out of his pants at the hem. With a laugh turned snort, Hagrid tucked it away into one of his many pockets. 

"Good job little dainty," said Hagrid.

Back on his feet, Griphook emitted a piercing, echoing, horrible sort of whistle. Not an instant later the area was flooded with more goblins than Harry could count. A number of them were examining the now bare vault, apparently the small parcel was the vault's sole resident. Others were writing reports and taking statements from Hagrid and Harry. Harry noted the barely perceptible, collective pause in the hustle and bustle, when he stated his name for the report. Finally Griphook was given leave to escort Hagrid and Harry to the entrance.

Harry clung to Hagrid's arm during the cart-ride back.

Soon they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts, the excitement behind them and new adventures to be had. Harry felt as though he had ants in his pants, each pulling him in a different direction, his bag full of money like a key to the city, permitting him entrance to any shop he desired. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a Gucci clutch to understand that he was holding more money than he'd ever dreamt of having at one time.

Hagrid hunted through yet another series of pockets before handing Harry a crumpled list of items and supplies he would need for the coming school year.

"Might as well get yer uniform," he said, nodding toward _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions._ "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off for a pick-me-up in the pub? I hate them Gringotts carts.' He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, positively glistening with excitement for the first brand new items of clothing he had ever owned. 

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. 

Harry gazed about in fascination, his mouth gaped wide. One would think his feet were glued to the floor but it was his effort to run in all directions at once that keep him in place. The shop was filled with glorious bolts of fabric in every colour imaginable, racks upon racks of gowns and dresses, and rows of hats, gloves, purses, and shoes. 

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry had finally managed to close his mouth. "Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. 

"The Hogwarts uniform is a dress?" Harry asked quietly, trembling with anticipation. 

"Robes dear." That was good enough. 

Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to the pale boy, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length. "Stop dancing dear, or we'll never get it pinned right." Harry settled down.

"Hullo," said the pale boy, "Hogwarts too, then?"

"Yes!" Harry squealed.

The boy smirked, while being told to hold still by the witch working on him. 

Harry halted Madam Malkin's progress and stepped down from the stool. "That cut is all wrong for him," he huffed.

Madam Malkin stood up and smiled, "It's a uniform dear, we can't do much about the cut."

Harry argued for a moment before arming himself with a pincushion and setting upon the protesting pale boy. Between the three of them, they had the boy looking much less like a rake in a potato sac and more like a young man in a set of posh robes. 

"I won't have a fine boy of obvious good standing sent off to school looking a fright!" Harry tossed his head and grinned at the now bewildered boy who was obviously struggling to regain his composure. Harry leaped back up onto his footstool. "Now," he instructed, "the same for me."

"Do you live around here?" Harry asked the formally pale, now red-faced boy.

"Not really, why?"

"Oh, I just thought, since you're here by yourself, and all …"

"Oh no, my father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. In spite of the previous excitement, he had a bored, drawling voice. "Though I've been here tons of times before." He leaned toward Harry conspiratorially, "I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms when I'm done here. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

"Is your father the sort who'd let himself be bullied?" Harry asked coyly.

"No!" the boy sneered.

"Then it won't get you anywhere, will it? Sweet talk and flattery is the way to go, honey. Though I don't see what you want a broom for if we don't need them." Harry couldn't imagine himself willingly participating in a sweeping competition, racing brooms indeed!

"You don't play Quidditch at all?"

"I have no idea," Harry giggled, "but I supposed I don't."

The boys' demeanour darkened instantly, though he brightened again after a moment. "Ah, of course, you're not one for sports." 

Harry giggled again and shook his head, jumping rope never seemed to qualify as such.

"Know what house you'll be in yet?"

Harry threw his hands in the air, "Not a clue." He grinned.

The boy grinned back, "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Well if we had to go on names alone - Hufflepuff's surely where I'd want to be!" the boys laughed. Harry smiled coyly, "Though that Slytherin of yours is sounding good as well. I suppose we'll have to wait and see."

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry beaming with pride at his hero. "He works at Hogwarts," he continued, "he's the Keeper of Keys and Grounds," and mystery parcels, he added to himself.

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he? I've heard he's practically a _savage_ - lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I should think not! He saved me from certain death in the Gringotts bank just minutes ago!" 

The pale boy looked doubtfully out the window. "Right," he said derisively

"Yes, that's right you scoundrel! He's just about the bravest man I've ever met, and if I hear another word against him, I'll slap you silly!"

"Hey, don't get your panties in a twist," said the boy, "I just said I'd _heard_."

"Well you heard wrong."

The boy shrugged dismissively. "Why is he with you, anyway?" he asked. "Where are your parents?"

Harry cocked his eyebrow and waved his finger at the impudent boy, "Unlike your parents who I'm sure are doing errands in a sheer effort to avoid being in your presence, mine aren't here because they're dead."

"Oh … "

Before they could continue, Madam Malkin said "That's you done, dear," and Harry hopped down from the footstool. 

The pale boy wasn't finished, "But they were _our_ kind, weren't they, your parents?" he asked after him.

"If they were _our_ kind, I'd likely not have been born now would I? Oh no, my Dad was married to a woman." 

The first lick of ice cream - real honest to goodness ice cream! - cooled any lingering anger at that preposterous boy. At first he ate slowly, wanting to relish what might be the only dessert like this he would ever enjoy - even at the Dursleys he was rarely allowed to indulge in the sugary concoctions he baked for them. Then the weight of his shoulder bag reminded him that there were still heaps of money awaiting him in his Gringotts vault! He was a wizard, not a freak, a good boy, not a miscreant leading boys astray! This was just where he belonged. His content, after the ice cream was finished, came more from knowing that it would not be his last, than from the delicious ice cream itself.

Much of the rest of the day went by in a blissful blur. Finally, they bought Harry's schoolbooks in a shop call Flourish and Blotts. Harry, who had never been allowed his own books had, in rebellion, developed a love of reading to spite the Dursleys forced literary deprivation. 

"Hagrid?" he asked, "have we taken enough money for me to get a few extra things?"

Hagrid smiled, "You get what you like little dainty and I'll let you know if you need to stop." 

Harry wandered through the towering shelves and selected a number of extra books for his pile. Hagrid glanced over them and, with a chuckle, returned _Perilio Kadavena (100 Legal Curses the Ministry Wishes Weren't!)_ to the shelves. After a moment of indecision, Hagrid replaced it with _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_.

"What's that for?"

Hagrid shuffled with unease, "… I think yeh'll find it handy, is all." He brightened. "Just yer wand left - oh yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harry's cheeks flushed. "You already brought me the cake, that's more than enough." He didn't want Hagrid to think him a burden.

"That was a jus' a cake, little dainty. Oh come now, I can't imagine those muggles have bought yeh so many gifts that yeh really don't want one more." He marvelled at Harry who was still shaking his head. "Blimey Harry, yeh act like yeh've never got a present before." Hagrid stiffened suddenly in understanding. "What kin' of horrible place did I fetch yeh from?" he muttered. His eyes were mournful but determined. "That settles it, I'll get yeh yer owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer post an' everythin'," his eyes glinted, "that way if the Dursleys mess about, yeh can send word to me right away an' let me take care of 'em."

Harry grinned and twenty minutes later, they left Eyelops Owl Emporium carrying a large cage containing a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. He couldn't stop stammering his tear-filled thanks.

"Don't mention it, little dainty," said Hagrid gruffly, blinking back his own tears. "Just yer wand left now. Ollivanders then, best place fer wands, and yeh can't skimp on that."

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the narrow and rather shabby shop as they stepped inside. The entire place seemed to tingle as if the air itself was electric, Harry's nose seemed to tickle breathing it in. 

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped.

A handsome older gentleman was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moonbeams, lighting the shop.

"Hello," Harry did his best to present himself with proper decorum.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened, this man knew his name!

The man moved closer to Harry, so close in fact that they were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. If either of them leaned even a centimetre or two forward … Harry couldn't hold back a small giggle at the thought. The man didn't flinch but merely grinned slightly.

"And that's where …"

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long white finger. 

Harry shivered, his heart a flutter.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly, and with that, he turned away sharply and walked briskly to a back room.

Harry turned to Hagrid, who stood hunched half over to lean on the register counter. "Whatever did he mean?" he gushed, "I got this scar in the …" Harry drifted off. "My parents didn't die in a car crash, did they?" he asked, his eyes wholly innocent.

"… Let's just get yer wand, little dainty, and we'll talk about this after." Hagrid looked miserable and as this really wasn't the place to discuss such matters, Harry agreed.

Mr Ollivander returned with a single, slim, wooden box. He stood silently, looking deeply into Harry's eyes with an appraising set of his own. Finally, he nodded once to himself in apparent decision. He opened the box and presented Harry with a long slim wand.

"Just take it and give it a wave, before I change my mind about this."

Harry took the wand. He gasped at the sudden warmth in his fingers - it was as though the thrill of a hundred Brad Pitt movies watched back to back had been concentrated into his hand. Any remaining doubts about his actually being a wizard disappeared in a flash. He twirled his wrist about - talk to the hand fashion - and with a flurry of twinkling pink and gold sparks a beautiful rainbow shot out of the end, throwing rays of colour and sparkle onto the walls of the old shop. Hagrid whooped and cheered while Mr Ollivander looked at him intently once again, this time with a small but satisfied smile.

"The wand chooses the wizard Mr Potter, and a very powerful one has chosen you." Mr Ollivander leaned in close once again. "Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches … It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave one other feather - just one. I think we must expect great things from one destined to wield this wand, when its brother - why, it's brother gave you that scar.

Harry let out a strangled shriek, and nearly collapsed into Hagrid's leg for support. Hagrid fumbled in Harry's shoulder bag for the seven gold Galleons to pay for the wand, then hustled him out of the store. 

"There is only one wand whose sale I've regretted, Mr Potter, do not make me regret another." Mr Ollivander's quiet words followed them to the door.

The mid afternoon sun hung low in the sky when Harry and Hagrid exited the shop. "It's almost time ter get yeh back, how's about we have a bite and see if we can't straighten a few things out?" 

They sat down for an early dinner but Harry could only pick at his food. Hagrid started quietly.

"I wasn't sure what them muggles musta told yeh about how yer parents died, but if they didn' even tell yeh, yeh were a wizard then I knew whatever they said couldn' a been the truth." Hagrid took a very deep breath. "They were murdered, Harry, by a very powerful, very evil wizard. And yeh've got that scar from when he tried to kill yeh too."

"But," Harry asked, eyes as wide as they could go. "What happened?"

"Well I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great mystery, parts of it, but … it begins, I suppose with … with - I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went … bad. As bad as you could go. Worse even. Worser than worse. His name was …"

Hagrid gulped but no words came out.

"Maybe you could sing it?" Harry suggested.

"I can't carry a tune. All right - Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this - this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too - some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was getting' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust … Terrible things happened. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school.

"Now, all anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Hallowe'en ten years ago. You was just a year old. And that's when …" Hagrid pulled out a very dirty spotted handkerchief, Harry flicked it away and gave him a clean beige one from the few he had snagged from the Yellow Tuna's linens. This seemed to make Hagrid's tears flow even faster. "Sorry," he said, dabbing his eyes. "But its that sad - knew yer mum and da', an nicer people yeh couldn't find … Anyway, that's when he got them, then he tried to get yeh too. Don' know why exactly. No ones does I suppose. 

"That scar is what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh - took care of yer mum and da' it did, but it didn't work on yeh. Yer the only one to ever live through the killin' curse, little dainty, and yeh were just a baby."

Harry saw, in his minds eye, something that had found its way into his nightmares on more than one occasion: a blinding flash of god awful -nothing will ever match with that - green light. It was clearer now than he had ever envisioned it before. 

"But what happened to Voldemort?" 

Hagrid cringed, "You-Know-Who, little dainty, call 'im You-Know-Who."

"Sorry, so what happened to this Yoo-Hoo scoundrel, then?"

"Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried to kill you. Some say he died, curse bounced back at him or something like that - codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers, too weak to carry on. 'Cause something about you stumped him that night."

"Were you there? However do you know all of this?"

"Everybody knows, little dainty. Yer famous. There isn't a witch or wizard doesn't know yer name." 

Harry squeaked in stunned disbelief. 

"If yeh read that book I put on yer pile yeh'll understand it better than I can tell it."

Harry nodded. 

Hagrid begun piling his bags into his cauldron and looping everything together with a piece of twine from one of his pockets. "Don't want yeh to leave anything behind fer the trip back."

Harry planted his feet and held onto the owl cage tightly. Hagrid kneeled low with Harry's purchases in one hand, he wrapped the other holding the newspaper portkey around Harry's waist to keep him from falling and squashing the owl. Harry grabbed onto the newspaper and with the telltale navel pull, they were back inside the front hall of number four Privet Drive. 

A snort from the kitchen told them that the Dursleys were still in potion induced sleep. Hagrid took this time to hand Harry a thick envelope. 

"First o' September - King's Cross - it's all on yer ticket."

"Hagrid?" said Harry. "Whatever will I tell the Dursleys when they wake up?"

"Yer worried they might still keep yeh from Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded.

"Not to worry little dainty, Dumbledore has thought of everything, great man, he. Yeh just put yer things away and put that envelope on the table so they see it first thing when they wake up. Yeh'll see they won' dare try holdin' yeh back." He laughed, "And if they do, yeh'll send yer owl double quick and we'll just sen' over some more o' that tea now won't we?"


	5. The Journey from Platform 9 and 3 4

****

The Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quarters

Harry closed the door behind Hagrid, wondering how he was going to get wherever he was going. Likely straight back to Hogwarts to deliver the parcel to Professor Dumbledore, _Headmaster_. Harry giggled to himself, _Headmaster_ might not have referred to the school's leader had his first hope for the school been correct. He sobered quickly and brought himself back to the task at hand. 

After a tiptoed peek in at the sleeping Dursleys left Harry satisfied that he had at least the better part of an hour before they awoke, he busied himself tidying up his cupboard to make room for his new books and supplies. Everything in its place, Harry took a seat at the kitchen table and placed the Headmaster's envelope in front of Uncle Vernon's head, currently face down on the table, nose squashed into a pig snout that re-affirmed his title as Dudley's father. 

Almost all at once, the memory of the day swept through Harry's mind. It was only the fear that he might accidentally shorten these remaining, if bizarre, Dursley free moments, that kept him planted to his seat and not jumping sailor kicks in the kitchen. In just a short while, Uncle Vernon would awaken to the Headmaster's letter which would explain away - Harry stopped, jerked out of his reverie. Explain away what exactly? He remembered Hagrid's outburst earlier in the day - the Headmaster had written a letter to them 10 years earlier as well, probably much like the one now fluttering on the table with each of Dudley's random snorts. They had known all this time, and all this time they had made every effort to _stamp it out of him_. Could a second letter possibly persuade them?

Harry took the envelope away from Uncle Vernon's head, and picked up the butter knife Dudley had knocked to the floor sometime during the day. A humph of annoyance escaped his lips, the Dursleys meals required proper cutlery, Harry's dry toast and cheese did not. He eased the knife under the seal where it covered the flap of the envelope, his delicate touch careful not to crack the wax. He could tuck the flap back under the dry seal later, his snooping would go unnoticed. 

Harry sat twirling strands of his hair into ringlets, he had become a bundle of nerves. The letter was commanding, kind, precise, and reassuring. The Headmaster clearly thought his muggle relations had held back the letters in an attempt to protect Harry; that after the death of his mother, and his own near death, they were afraid that the wizarding community was unsafe for a young boy; that Uncle Vernon had hoped Harry would follow in his footsteps and attend his own alma-matter. He affirmed repeatedly that Harry would be given the tightest protection. The Headmaster had gone on to try to press upon them how important Harry's presence was to the wizarding community. Had the Headmaster's presumptions been correct, his letter would have sweetened even the most bitter lemon. 

Harry was sure the letter's argument and plea for his education would go ignored. He was equally sure that the explanation for the day long breakfast snooze would not. He'd be in the cupboard for the rest of the summer for sure, magic books and supplies confiscated. Perhaps Hagrid would come back to Privet Drive and steal him away to Hogwarts when he didn't arrive on the train like the other students. But the Dursleys were his legal guardians, if they didn't want him to attend there was no one at Hogwarts with the legal authority to overrule their decision. 

He pouted in disbelief. He would have thought that the Dursleys would burst with glee at the chance to get rid of him for most of the year … losing their cook, gardener, seamstress, and house-keep in the process … only to have him arrive back for holidays, armed with the magic they tried to keep from him. 

The sound of wet smacking lips started Harry into motion, Dudley was beginning to stir and the other two wouldn't be far behind. Harry had an idea but he needed more time! He scampered to the cutlery drawer in a flash and with a naughty glint in his eyes he held up his prize, the turkey baster!

Each Dursley had gulped an average of just over half a cup of tea - and that had kept them drooling through both the morning and afternoon. Harry only needed another couple of hours, so they would wake up in time for dinner. He did some quick but careful calculations and used the measurement lines on the turkey baster to ration out what he hoped was about 2 hours worth of potion. Tipping each Dursley's head back in turn, he eased the turkey baster to the back of their mouths and waited. The remaining tea he poured into a plastic storage container, he hoped it wouldn't spoil or lose its potency over time, he would need it again. He watched for a few moments, hand on hip, tapping his foot impatiently, and finally satisfied that they were settling back into deep slumber, Harry set his plan into action. 

The eggs and sausage were disposed of immediately, though with some regret. Harry had been looking forward to watching them eat the food that had spent a considerable amount of time on the floor. He reset the table for dinner and even went so far as to place the Yellow Tuna's napkin in her lap and half fill her glass with wine. Harry picked Dudley's favourite menu and set to preparing it quickly. While it was cooking, he slipped into Dudley's second bedroom which was really something of an asylum for abandoned toys and unread books. He found 2 knapsacks, one with a broken buckle and the other with merely a snapped string. He humphed again, he had been using plastic bags for his school things for years. He rummaged through the untouched books and removed four from the collection, Dudley would never miss them. 

Back in his cupboard, he packed his school books and the stolen novels into the 2 knapsacks. He used his new robes to wrap the breakables (potions vials, writing quills, ink jars, and a collapsible telescope), and placed them all inside his cauldron. His remaining school supplies would be placed on top. The wand box now lay before him and Harry couldn't bring himself to store it, to be away from it for an entire month. Perhaps he could keep it under his pillow at night and tuck it into his sock during the day? Too risky with Dudley around, attacking at every corner, it could break. He opened the box and removed his wand, wanting to have one last look before he put it away. The warmth spread through his fingers again, though, he noted with a pout, not with nearly the same intensity as it had in the store. He gave it its second wave but only the twinkling pink and gold sparkles reappeared. He sighed wistfully.

A soft hoot outside the door sent him dancing in the air. His owl! Harry let her out of the cage and sat next to her, both their eyes wide with worry. The white owl rubbed her head softly against her new owners hands, nipping his fingers gently. He grinned at her, eyes still wide, and petted her down. His wand, still in his hand, emitted another, and much more substantial, wave of the twinkling pink and gold. 

"That's what I'll call you, Twinkle!" the owl hooted and fluttered its wings, claiming her name. "But whatever can I do with you?" Harry cooed softly. "I can't put you in for storage, but you can't stay in here." He had another month until he left for Hogwarts. He perked up delighted when the obvious answer spanked him on the bottom. "Hagrid!" The owl hooted in agreement. Harry wrote a quick note to Hagrid, telling him that everything was dandy with the Dursleys, but he wasn't allowed to have Twinkle stay with him at the house. Harry was sure that Hagrid wouldn't mind taking care of her for a few weeks, he'd be so glad that things had worked out well with the muggles that minding Twinkle would be more a joy than a burden. 

The knapsacks, the cauldron, and the owl cage were then taken to the storage shed and hidden under an impossible to fold plastic tarp. The Yellow Tuna would bang and yell from outside the door for wake ups and other necessary communications but did enter his cupboard rather often doing her random searches for contraband and spot checks for cleanliness. In her effort to prevent him contaminating her home, she made sure he kept it spot-free, dust-free, and clutter free - which wasn't difficult as until that day he had only a handful of belongings - unfortunately there was nothing Harry could do about the spiders. The storage shed on the other hand - was reserved for Harry alone. Uncle Vernon would go in once every couple of weeks in the summer to get the ladder or some tools but he didn't look around and wouldn't notice the new bulk under the tarp. 

He looked in his cupboard again, he hadn't missed anything. 

Dinner was ready only just in time, coinciding with the first stirs of awakening. Quickly, Harry dished out food for the Yellow Tuna, Uncle Vernon, and Dursley, so it would appear as though they had just sat down to eat. He put his own meagre plate of greens - with just the tiniest sliver of lasagne - at his place and took a hefty bite out of Uncle Vernon's. He placed the fork in Uncle Vernon's hand then proceeded to eat more than half of the generous portion on Dudley's plate - he was always already halfway done by the time Uncle Vernon took his first bite. Giggling himself dizzy, Harry smeared some meat-sauce across Dudley's mouth and cheeks, then added a greasy mouth print to Uncle Vernon's glass of wine. Making sure his own mouth was free of any sign of having eaten, he waited in the kitchen until the Dursleys were fully alert.

Harry put a bread basket on the table, "Dudley, you scamp! You didn't even wait for the bread!" he exclaimed. "You know you love nibbling my warm buns with dinner."

Dudley looked around the table, his expression of bafflement more pronounced then usual. The Yellow Tuna and Uncle Vernon were fairing no better.

The Yellow Tuna recovered first, "You'll get him a second helping," she snapped.

Dinner went smoothly after that. Uncle Vernon complained about work and his incompetent employees. The Yellow Tuna complained about their wicked nephew. Both agreed that Dudley's academic achievement had been held back due to the Harry's presence in his classes and he was sure to excel the following year once the offending party was gone. 

The next day when cleaning the front closet, Harry scooped up an armful of out of place items and gasped when he felt a tug at his navel. He slammed into something hard and wailed as the armful of items tumbled to the ground. He fluttered his hands about his face to give himself more air. 

He was in Diagon Alley.

Harry wailed a second time and scrambled around to pick up the dropped items. He made sure to pick up the newspaper last. Hagrid must have forgotten it the other day. 

Back in the closet, Harry nearly wept with joy. He had yet to even begin to fathom how he might get himself to King's Cross station and here was the answer, poking at his navel. Hagrid had said that they had to go to London to get his things, King's Cross station was in London as well.

He had to wait nearly a week before the Yellow Tuna went for tea and gossip across the street and Dudley was out bullying with his friends. He portkeyed to Diagon Alley and skipped merrily along back to the Gringotts bank. 

He looked around keenly - keeping his eyes open for that delightful Griphook - until he found what he was looking for. In a section near the far end of the counter stood a tall man wearing khaki pants next to a shorter woman in a tweed skirt set. Both were looking around rather nervously, the woman latching onto the mans arm like a vice grip. Muggles. He continued to watch. After a few minutes the couple exited the bank. They hadn't been led to a cart. That meant they didn't have a vault! Harry crossed his fingers, and made his way to the counter they had left.

"Hello," Harry stood on his tippy toes both for comfort and in an attempt to appear more mature. "I'm here to change some money."

The goblin gave him an appraising look but nodded without asking any questions. In the end, goblins were goblins, and goblins loved money - they didn't care whose it was or where it came from. 

A rush of relief swept over him and Harry put just over half of his remaining Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, on the counter. After a quick count, the goblin handed him 75 pounds and some change, and a hand written receipt of the transaction. 

Harry tucked the notes into his shoulder bag and left with an enormous grin on his face. Phase one (of three) was complete. 

He smiled and fluttered his lashes at the first dashing older gentleman he came across.

"Um.." he pouted, "I'm supposed to meet my parents but I don't remember how to get back." He made sure to gape shamelessly at anything and everything decidedly magical.

"Muggle London, then?" the man smiled. And led him to a place about a block and a half away. After Harry was truly spellbound - and gaped rather shamelessly - at a brick wall that after a quick sequence of wand taps, was there - decided to do the jimmy shuffle - and then wasn't, they walked through a small walled courtyard and then into a somewhat dark and shabby sort of pub. 

"The Leaky Cauldron," the man announced. He looked at Harry with a kindly smile but with eyebrows raised with worry.

"There they are!" Harry exclaimed, setting the man's fear to rest. "I don't know why they're outside though - oh they look a fright." The man glanced to what was surely an honest to goodness hag sitting at the bar with a plate of something raw, and felt he understood what led them to wait outside. Harry gushed and thanked him, then scrambled through the pub and out the door.

Muggle London.

Harry was suddenly struck by how many people there were walking about, if he wasn't careful his airy little feet would be edged along with the swell and he'd find himself completely lost. He bit back both his fear and trembling lip and remembered his portkey. If he figured correctly, it should take him back to the Dursleys no matter where he was. Just in case, he made note of the address of the Leaky Cauldron. He wandered about until he had found a call box, he noted with pride that today's ensemble had garnered more than one appreciative glance. He looked up a taxi company and after stating his cross street, found out the approximate fare to King's Cross Station. He breathed another sigh of relief, he had more than enough money in his shoulder bag for the trip. 

He had been out long enough. Hagrid had mentioned that it was best not to use magic in front of muggles, so he darted to the nearest bare alleyway and took the newspaper out of his bag. He had put it in a plastic bag so he wouldn't be sent back and forth every time he reached inside. He got down on his hands and knees (so he wouldn't fall over on the landing) and grabbed a hold of the portkey.

He had made it. 

After some rather painful conversions using the Gringotts receipt and his slightly shady recollection of each coins worth, Harry figured he had about 20 pounds left on hand in Wizarding coins, plus whatever muggle money remained after his cab ride. He didn't know if there were things he would need to buy at Hogwarts but he did know that he wouldn't likely have another chance to get to Gringotts before the end of his first year. The heavy weight of 4 Galleons, 36 Sickles, and 81 Knuts, suddenly felt very unsubstantial, this money would have to last the year. And he still had no idea what he was going to do once the year was over. He would worry about that later.

The rest of the holiday passed dreadfully slowly for Harry. He worried himself sick on more than one occasion over the possibility of the Dursleys finding his wizarding things in the shed. 

He had been doing a lot of thinking about his time at the Dursleys, now that it appeared to be nearing its end, and he had come to the conclusion that the Dursleys - the Yellow Tuna and Uncle Vernon at least - didn't just frown on anything they declared abnormal, they absolutely detested it. Maybe it had started after he arrived and wasn't like their Duddikins, the hate deepening when his magic began spilling over accidentally. Or maybe it went back even further. For a long time Harry had just assumed that strange little boys like himself were supposed to be treated as he was. If there was something wrong with what the Dursleys were doing, surely the teachers at school or the nurse or the guidance counsellor would have stepped in. They seemed to think it was fine that Harry was too small and thin, and that he was constantly sewing his oversized clothes. The neighbours never said anything about the thin child who tended the garden and re-sod the lawn each spring, heaving enormous bags of fertiliser on his own but was never seen outdoors playing like the other children. But who knows what stories may have been told to keep people from asking questions.

He supposed they did enough, he did eat, and he had clothing and shelter. There was no law that said you had to love the children in your home. Harry used to wonder why the Dursleys didn't simply put him in an orphanage once it was clear they didn't want him but now he understood. They were too afraid of being caught - of his abnormality somehow tracing back to them, or by the wizarding world who they worried would come to check on the boy one day. No, they wanted him where they could keep an eye on him, keep him in check.

Harry eyes misted over as he wondered whether he would miss them, in spite of everything, they really were his only family. Two images fought for his audience, one of the previous Christmas when Dudley had tossed a wet snotty tissue at him and said it was his gift. The Yellow Tuna told him to 'say thank you' and to stop being so ungrateful. The other was of Hagrid telling him that he was a good boy and not to forget it. No, he would not miss them one bit. In fact, the more he thought about leaving the happier he became. 

Harry arrived at Kings Cross station on September 1st without incident. He had stayed up late in his cupboard the previous night, filling plastic bags with his scant possessions. He would 'borrow' a proper trunk from the Dursleys in the morning but wanted to have everything as ready as possible beforehand. In the morning he added the leftover sleeping tea to the pot, watched the Dursleys fall straight to sleep - though it didn't seem as deep at it had been before - perhaps the dilution and age effected it. It didn't matter. He retrieved his stored items from the shed, and packed what he could into the largest trunk of Uncle Vernon's that had wheels and a pulley.

He had dreamed about getting a bit of revenge before he left, hiding cosmetics or a Piers Polkiss signed love letter in Dudley's room to be found by the Yellow Tuna later on, or giving Uncle Vernon a good smack as he lay sleeping in a pool of his own drool. But in the end he said goodbye with a simple note.

__

Kiss my ass

It was from the heart.

He pulled the larger of the two knapsacks over his back, slipped on his absolutely smashing brand new shoulder bag (courtesy of the Yellow Tuna's closet), grabbed the handle of the trunk and Twinkles cage in one hand, and the portkey in the other.

Once at King's Cross he was faced with an entirely new dilemma. One he had not for a second considered before then. There was no platform 9 and 3/4! There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in between stood nothing at all. 

As soon as Harry realised that he would rather spend the next year running around the train station looking for platform 9 and 3/4 than go back to the Dursleys, he was able to contain his coos of distress and take a deep breath.

"I'm such a silly billy!" he admonished himself, "Of course they wouldn't have the wizard platform in plain sight of everyone - this is a muggle station after all." The Leaky Cauldron required that you pass through a courtyard then tap the bricks before gaining entrance to the wizarding side, which would certainly keep unsuspecting muggles out. 

He stood near the two platforms and waited for other students and families to approach. If he was indeed in the right place, they would certainly be coming soon.

A group of people approached _the in-between_ and looked around casually. So casually that it seemed terribly suspicious to Harry's watching eye. He continued to watch, knowing he was staring but not daring to take his eyes away for a second. The group consisted of two adults and two teenagers. They were dressed in muggle style clothing - very three seasons ago, Harry noted with a prim frown - but were pulling trunks along with them. Harry began to wonder if the neighbouring platforms were for trains to other boarding schools, he didn't see an owl cage or any hint of anything out of the ordinary among them - aside from the fact that they seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable with the stares they were getting from the small young boy just metres away. One of the group began tapping his foot impatiently. 

"Hey!" a finger poked him hard from behind. 

Harry swirled around, surprised. "You!" he exclaimed. He turned back to _the in-between_ but the group had vanished. "Oh poop! Now I've missed them."

The pale boy from the robe shop sneered at him, "There's a reason we don't tell muggle borns how to get to the platform."

"Really?" Harry asked, ignoring the sneer. "I didn't know muggles could give birth to wizards," he thought back to the Dursleys, the Yellow Tuna was certainly not a witch, though her sister, his mum, had been. "Though I suppose they must." 

The pale boy looked at Harry suspiciously.

"Don't look at me like I've got my hand in the cookie jar. I haven't told _anyone_ how to get to the platform - seeing as I don't know myself!" Harry sniffed, now understanding the boys unwillingness to help. "I get it, my parents died and left me with muggles so now you're not allowed to tell me how to get on the train?" Harry sniffed again and nodded. "Then leave me be so I can figure it out in peace." He turned back to watch the barrier.

The boy pulled him back around. "Don't you turn your back to me!" he snapped.

"I'll turn my back when I like, thank you very much! You'll just have to learn to control yourself." He humphed as he returned to view the barrier. A new group were approaching.

"I was talking." The boy turned Harry around again. "Your parents were both wizards?"

Harry nodded impatiently. 

"Well why didn't you just tell me?" the boy dragged Harry by the arm toward the barrier. After a moments annoyance at Harry's slow progress, he grudgingly took the owl cage from Harry's arms. "You just walk through it!" 

And with that, Harry stepped through the barrier that wasn't, and found himself facing a scarlet steam engine and a platform scattered with waiting people. A sign over head said _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock_. 

They found an empty compartment, deposited Harry's things, then went back outside.

"Why were you back on the other side of the barrier?" Harry asked.

"Waiting for a couple of friends of mine," he seemed to speak with disdain.

"Oh, should you go back then?" the boy snorted and shook his head. "You never told me - why aren't we supposed to tell muggle born wizards how to get to the platform?" he thought it must be a test or initiation of some kind.

The boys face darkened, "Because they shouldn't be here," he sneered.

Harry looked at the boy quizzically, "What do you mean?" he asked, "if they weren't supposed to go to Hogwarts, they wouldn't get their letters, would they?" 

The boy launched into a lecture about wizarding blood and the necessity to keep it pure of anything muggle. 

"My family comes from one of the oldest wizarding lines. Name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." The boy thrust out his chest proudly. 

"Harry Potter." Harry reached out to shake the other boys hand. 

The boy didn't reach back, his eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed darkly. "Yeah right," he smirked.

Harry shrugged. The boy - Draco - did have his moments but on the whole, he didn't seem very nice at all. All that talk about purity of blood gave Harry the willy-nillies. 

"The train will be leaving soon, I'm going to find my seat." Draco didn't invite him to come along but didn't dismiss him either, it was evident that Harry was supposed to ask to join him. 

"Well, ta ta for now, then." Harry looked around the now crowded platform. Students were running in and out of the train, suddenly his eyes found his escape. "Ah," Harry's voice was gleeful, "twins!" he scampered away from Draco towards two young and beautiful, identical Indian girls, wearing matching plaits that ran the length of their backs. He rushed past them and didn't stop skipping until he was just shy of his goal. Their bright red hair shone like fire on a wintry night. He grinned shyly and nearly swooned when they looked his way in unison, finally noticing him. 

They smiled together. "First year?" the one on the right asked.

Harry nodded, batting his eyelashes and displaying his most winning smile. His eyes flickered from the boys just long enough to notice the mass of red haired people assembled behind the twins, finishing their goodbyes.

One of the twins nodded toward the youngest boy in the bunch. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles - not quite as cute as those the twins were sporting - with big hands and feet and a long nose. "That's Ron, he's just starting this year too."

Their mother seemed to be wrestling with the young boy, who valiantly fought off her handkerchief attack.

"_Mum_ - geroff," he wriggled free finally.

The unspoken twin winked at Harry - who's heart threatened to leap from his chest - and turned to his younger brother. "Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" he teased.

"Shut up," said Ron, making his way to Harry and the boys. "I'm Ron Weasley," he said, holding out his hand. He really was very cute.

Harry grinned and took his hand as though he were a Lord greeting a Lady of the court. He kissed the boys hand with a giggle - Ron's eyes widened in surprise and he blushed redder than his hair but grinned. "Harry Potter at your service." 

The three boys mouths dropped in shock. 

"Wicked!" the twins exclaimed in unison. 

"And have you really got - " Ron gulped, "you know …" he pointed to Harry's forehead.

Harry flicked the curl he habitually wore on his forehead to hide the scar from the Dursleys ridicule.

"So that's where You-Know-Who - ?"

Harry nodded.

"Wow," the three redheads said together. After a moment one of the twins shook himself and poked his two brothers to stop their staring.

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? I'm Fred and this is George -"

George continued without missing a beat, "- the tall ugly one over there is our older brother Percy, and the little one there is Ginny - " 

"- but she doesn't start till next year."

Their mother kissed the tall ugly one - who wasn't as cute as the twins but far from ugly in Harry's opinion - and then turned to the twins.

"Now, you two - this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've - you've blown up a toilet or -"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's not _funny._ And look after Ron."

'Don't worry, ickle Ronnikins is safe with us." 

"Shut up," said Ron again, his hand inching back to his nose to shield it from his mother. 

The four boys climbed aboard the train. The Weasley boys leaned out of the windows so their mother could kiss them goodbye and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't cry, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls -"

"- and a Hogwarts toilet seat!"

The twins turned to Ron and Harry, "Our friend, Lee Jordan, has a giant tarantula on board, let's go see it."

Harry noticed Ron shaking his head and shuddering visibly, and pulled him in the opposite direction. "My things are this way." He said.

Ron nodded gratefully, "I hate spiders!" he mumbled.

They found Harry's empty compartment and settled in.

Harry felt suddenly nervous. The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families Draco Malfoy had talked about. They seemed absolutely delightful now but that may change once they found out that his aunt was a muggle. 

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, trying to feel him out.

"Er - yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him." 

Harry relaxed. 

"I heard you went to live with muggles," Ron continued. "What are they like?"

Harry stopped himself before blurting out that they were positively dreadful, he didn't want word to get out about life with the Dursleys in case someone decided it should be looked into.

"They're okay," he said cautiously. "I wish I had three wizard brothers though. Well," he flushed and giggled, "not _brothers_, neighbours instead!" 

Ron laughed and blushed again, "Actually, I've got five brothers." He was looking gloomy for some reason. "I'm the sixth in the family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left - Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot but they still get really good grades and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and -" he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey blob, "Percy's old rat."

"Oh honey, I know just what you're talking about!" Harry launched into great detail about having to alter Dudley's elephantine hand me downs.

"Why do you only get hand me downs? Do the Dursleys not have much money?" Ron flushed again and began stammering an apology.

Harry waved it away and leaned towards Ron. "If I tell you something, you have to promise not to tell anyone else." Ron nodded eagerly, and swore his oath. Harry threw caution to the wind and told him all about life with the Dursleys.

"You mean you've run away?" 

Harry nodded. "I don't think they'll bother look for me but if anyone at Hogwarts finds out I'm not really allowed to be here -" he voiced a dramatic 'eek,' "-they might send me back."

Ron shook his head, "I won't tell, I promise!" 

The rat on his lap shuffled slightly. Both boys jumped.

"Well now I know he's not dead." Ron poked the rat gently. "His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't … " he lowered his voice, and eyes, "um, they uh, couldn't afford a new pet for me, so I got Scabbers instead."

Harry smiled coquettishly, "We'll have to share our pets then, I don't have anyone to post so you can use Twinkle - and I can play with Scabbers, he's like a stuffed animal, and I've never had one!" 

Ron grinned back.

Around half-past twelve there was a great clattering outside the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, thought a candy bar was a reasonable expense for his limited funds. He squeaked out an 'oh my' before waving Ron over to help him sort through the items on the trolley - Harry didn't recognise a thing! They selected a few items and Harry paid the woman six silver sickles and 13 bronze Knuts.

Ron talked him through a set of Pumpkin Pasties, Liquorice Wands, and finally Chocolate Frogs, which came with a collectors card featuring a famous witch or wizard. Harry stared for a second at a picture of Albus Dumbledore, the man who had placed him in the Dursleys care, before turning the card over to read the back. When he turned the card back to look at the Headmaster again, he jumped with shock.

"He's gone!" Harry exclaimed. 

"Well you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again … do you want it? You can start collecting."

Harry was still awed by this display of magic, "… Good heavens, in the muggle world, people don't move about in pictures - that's for the movies."

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy looking teary eyed, came in.

"Oh dear," Harry pouted, "You look a fright, whatever's the matter?" he sat the boy down beside him.

"I'm sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?" the boy sniffed. Harry and Ron shook their heads. The boy wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"There, there," Harry consoled the boy. 

Ron rolled his eyes as Harry dabbed the boys tears with his handkerchief, but said "It'll turn up." 

After the boy left, Ron broke into snickers. "Blimey Harry, do you flirt with _everyone_?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, he was lost for words. Ron continued to snicker until finally Harry broke down and giggled as well.

Just then, their compartment door slid open again.

Draco Malfoy entered, flanked as if by bodyguards by two of the ugliest brutes Harry had ever seen - and he had been to Gringotts!

"So it's true then, you really are Harry Potter."

Harry raised his head in acknowledgement and humphed. He turned to Ron, "This is Draco Malfoy -" before he could finish the introductions, Ron gave a snort and tried to cover it with a cough.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children then they can afford." 

Harry jumped up, enraged, "Now see here, missy! That was downright uncalled for. Ron shouldn't have laughed but you went too far! Now, if you can't be nice than you had better hustle your little behind back out again - and take your two great lumps of ugly with you!"

Draco reddened slightly at the reference to his friends, who, didn't seem to have picked up the insult. "I'd be careful Potter, you hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you." 

"I warned you back at Madam Malkin's, you rascal! One more word against my friends and I'd slap you silly!" Draco's guards growled and seemed to enlarge. Ron stood up next to Harry, and glared at the invading trio.

"My father says -" Draco began.

"With all the things your father says you'd think he would have told you that you can't make up for an ugly boyfriend by having two of them!" Harry found himself for the second time, waving his finger at Draco.

"Their not my boyfriends!" Draco spat back.

"All they do is grunt and growl, you're certainly not with them for the conversation!" 

Draco reddened again.

"Now either call off your dogs and mind your manners - or get _out!_" Harry breathed finally, his hissy fit over.

The two brutes looked puzzled, and looked to Draco for instruction. Draco reddened even further at their show of stupidity. Finally, after seeming to weigh the pros and cons, he tilted his head toward the vacant seats and he and his henchmen sat down.

The five of them sat in awkward silence until Ron, choosing simply to ignore the new arrivals, turned to Harry and asked if he knew about Quidditch yet.

Draco's eyes widened in shock, "You don't know about Quidditch?!" and the two were off, competing for the floor, glaring constantly at each other, but not arguing, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games they'd been to and the broomsticks they had or wanted. The conversation went on and on, the two beastly boys nodded and grunted, laughed when Draco laughed but didn't seem to properly keep up with the discussion. 

"Trust a Malfoy to follow the Wimborne Wasps - dirtiest team in the league!" Ron exclaimed.

"And who do you like Weasley? Let me guess, the Chudley Cannons - they haven't won a game in going on fifty years!" Draco snorted as Ron turned beat red, declaring the Cannons as his team.

Harry peered out of the window, it was getting dark and the train seemed to be slowing down a bit. The compartment door slid open again, and the boy with the lost toad came in again, this time with a bushy brown haired girl with rather large front teeth.

The boy - who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom - eyed the two large, now sleeping boys - who Draco had finally introduced as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle - and squashed himself into the small space between Ron's and Harry's seats. The girl remained standing as the round of introductions went on. The boys turned back to their endless talk of Quidditch before being interrupted by the bushy haired girl, Hermione Granger.

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on." she said. "I've just been up the front to ask the driver and he says we're nearly there." She turned to leave, then said to Ron in a sniffly voice, "You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" 

Ron glared at her as she left.

"And that, Harry, is why we don't tell muggle borns how to get to the platform." Draco said with a snort. After a moment of shock, a laugh escaped Ron and even Harry and Neville burst into giggles.

"How can you tell she's muggle born?" Harry asked after a moment. 

"It's like a bad smell," Draco started.

"Oh shut up," Ron interrupted. "There are just things that muggles do differently that are easy to spot sometimes."

"Like her teeth," said Neville, sheepishly. "If she had even one magic parent, they'd have fixed them ages ago."

"I think my mum might have been muggle born. My Aunt Petunia is a muggle."

"She was," Draco said, "But don't worry about that, the Potter line is almost as old as ours -" he stopped short when he saw Ron and Harry rolling their eyes at each other. "Fine," he said, defeated. He got up and kicked the sleeping forms of Crabbe and Goyle. "We have to put our school robes on." 

Neville left a moment later as well, leaving Harry and Ron to change. Ron's robes were a bit short for him, you could see his trainers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train, announcing their arrival at Hogwarts and telling them to leave their belongings behind.

Once the train had stopped they pushed their way out into the night. Harry shivered in the cold night air and wiggled to keep warm. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, little dainty?"

Harry waved as Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

The first year students followed Hagrid down a steep narrow path, ooh'ing at the first glimpse of the magnificent castle that was Hogwarts and finally climbing in groups of four into a fleet of little boats that took them the rest of the way. 

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, announcing their arrival. 


	6. The Sorting Hat

****

Chapter Seven - The Sorting Hat

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was someone who wore her britches too tight and was not to be crossed. 

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Dursleys' house in it.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - the rest of the school must already be here - but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing - much to Harry's delight, as he was next to Ron and Neville - rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, you will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common-room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slythering. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves as much as you can while you are waiting.

"I shall return when we are ready for you, please wait quietly." And with that, she left the chamber. Harry fanned himself frantically with his hands.

"However do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry's heart fluttered madly, much worse than the first time he had seen the neighbour boy two doors down take his shirt off while mowing the lawn. What in heavens would they have to do? 

Then something happened that took the worry from his mind. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other. No one had prepared Harry for this! He put his hand to his forehead and swooned.

"I say, what is the matter with that boy?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had noticed Harry draped over Ron's arms.

"Er," Ron said, "I don't think he's ever seen a ghost before." 

Harry recovered his legs and had relinquished Ron's arm by the time Professor McGonagall returned. The students formed a line at Professor McGonagall's word and followed her into the Great Hall. 

It was magnificent. Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables where the rest of the students were seated. Harry squealed numerous times, at each delightful new sight. A four legged stool stood in front of the first years, with a patched and frayed and extremely dirty hat resting on top. The hat twitched and a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and like a girl in a cat-suit ready for her big break - it broke into song.

Harry listened rapturously, and jumped up and down, clapping wildly when the hat was done. If the hat was to be believed, they need only try it on to be sorted into their house. 

The Sorting began though Harry's attention had wavered from the festivities to the students sitting at the four tables. His let out a small yelp when his eyes caught a glimmer of red. The winsome Weasley twins and the older Weasley boy were all at the same table. Harry turned back to the Sorting Ceremony just in time to hear 'Brown, Lavender' become the first new Gryffindor - the table the twins were at went wild. That's what Harry wanted to be, a Gryffindor. 

He continued to scope out the other houses, the loyal Hufflepuffs certainly had a number of nice looking very muscly boys, while the intellectual Ravenclaws seemed to be a bit slimmer and subdued. The Slytherin table was filled with a mixture of Draco like pretty boys and Crabbe and Goyle brutes. Harry shivered, both Crabbe and Goyle had now been sorted into Slytherin, and Harry certainly didn't want to share a dorm room with either of them - heaven forbid, both!

The hat soon proclaimed the large toothed muggle girl Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor - Ron groaned behind him. Certainly he wanted to be sorted into his brothers house as well. 

Neville became a Gryffindor, and soon after, Draco became a Slytherin. Both seemed extremely pleased with themselves.

"Potter, Harry!" Harry squealed, then pranced his way over to the stool. Gossiping whispers broke out all over the hall as everyone seemed to crane their necks or stand to get a look at him.

Harry gave the crowd an exaggerated wink - the twins catcalled - and his most adorable grin, before the hat dropped over his eyes.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Interesting, very interesting. Loyal, very loyal - but you're not the most hard-working by choice, are you?"

Harry giggled and shook his head.

"A great mind though, yes, very clever, but you wouldn't be happy … Hmm … what's this? There's more than a bit of cunning in you, and ambition, definitely a good helping of that, Slytherin would suit you well. And what else? Courage, yes, there's a fair bit of that in here too - what's that? Just put you with the Weasley twins? I remember them - they tried to trick me, they did. Yes, if you want to be put with them then you certainly are brave indeed. Yes, the place for you is GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He threw the hat into the air like a graduation cap - caught deftly by Professor McGonagall - and skipped merrily to the Gryffindor table. He was so delighted to be put with the twins that he barely noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled "Way to go, Harry!" and did an 'after the goal' American football dance. 

He glanced up at the High Table now. At the end nearest his sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up. Harry waved back. 

Ron was sorted second to last. Harry crossed his fingers and waved them at his new friend, while much of the Gryffindor table seemed to hold a collective breathe. A second later, the hat proclaimed him a "GRYFFINDOR!" and the table whooped with delight. The twins resumed their dance and many others at the table chanted along with them "Six down, one to go!" and Ron collapsed with relief into the chair next to Harry. 

The Sorting Hat and stool were soon taken away and Harry finally looked down at this table setting, he was awed by the glittering golden plates and goblets. 

In the centre of the High Table, from a large gold chair, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. Harry recognised him at once from the card he'd got out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. The Headmaster's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddmen! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry understood now, how it was that this man had sent him to spend ten years at the Dursleys - greatest wizard of our time or not, he was certainly at least a little bit mad.

"Potatoes, Harry?" Percy asked, pushing a dish toward him. 

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat - Dudley himself would have fainted dead away with anticipation. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry dig into his rump roast.

"Aah!" Harry jumped, again surprised by the ghost's presence. "I mean, aah, I see, you can't eat, then?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you - you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"_Nearly_ Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?" a sandy haired boy named Seamus Finnigan asked.

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted. He seized his left ear and seemed about to pull before he stopped suddenly and looked at Harry who promptly covered his eyes with his hands. 

He opened his eyes in time to catch Sir Nicky's pleased expression at the stunned looks on the faces around him. 

When everyone had eaten their fill, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them as sparking clean as before. A moment later a multitude of delectable desserts appeared in their place. 

As Harry helped himself to a pastry spilling over with cream, talk turned to their families. Seamus was a muggle/witch mix, and Dean Thomas to the surprise of many at the table, was muggle born. Harry noticed that his teeth were perfect, and sparkled nicely against his dark skin. Neville had been raised by his 'gran' and told stories of how his obviously deranged Uncle Algie kept bringing him to the brink of death in an attempt to squeeze some magic out of him. 

Hermione was telling anyone who would listen about how she had already memorised the first year texts, and was hoping they would jump into the lessons right away. She finally managed to engage Percy in a discussion of first year Transfiguration class.

At last, the puddings too disappeared and the Headmaster got to his feet again. The hall fell silent and he made a few start of term notices. Harry couldn't help but giggle at his warning against the _Forbidden Forest_. The Headmaster finished up the notices with the mention of an off limits corridor before announcing with glee that they would now sing the school song. He gave his wand a flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it. It rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words. Everyone was to sing to their favourite tune.

Harry sang to the beat of the muggle song _Funky Town_, while the twins finished last singing a slow funeral march. The Headmaster conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest. 

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great hall and up the marble staircase. Tired and full of food, the prance in Harry's step was somewhat subdued. He giggled and waved tiredly at the portraits lining the corridors which whispered and pointed as they passed. They walked for what seemed like ever and Harry had kissed two portraits and a suit of armour by the time they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them and as Percy took a step towards them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A Poltergeist." Harry shrieked. "Peeves -" Percy raised his voice, "- show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like Uncle Vernon in the bathroom after a pot of chilli, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?" Percy threatened. The Bloody Baron was the Slythering ghost, and quite frightening indeed.

There was a pop and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks. He reminded Harry of the creepy older man who bagged groceries in the market that smiled at him funny every time Harry was sent to pick up odds and ends alone. Neville shivered and inched closer to Harry, who had shivered as well and inched towards Ron.

"Ooooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them, they all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. Harry was smoothing out Neville's hair as they heard the poltergeist zooming away, rattling suits of armour as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," answered Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it - Harry and Ron giving Neville a boost - and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room.

Percy directed the boys and girls to their respective dormitories - they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red velvet curtains. 

"How indulgent!" Harry exclaimed. Their trunks had already been brought up. The five boys, Dean, Harry, Neville, Ron, and Seamus, pulled on their pyjamas, "don't worry boys, I might sneak a peek but I promise not to stare!" and fell into bed. 


	7. The Potions Master

****

Chapter Eight - The Potions Master

Everywhere Harry went people whispered and pointed his way. Harry did his best to smile politely at the obvious stares, and showed his scar without complaint when asked. Annoying as this was, it also became very useful, as Harry and Ron were attempting to find their way to their classes. Hogwarts was quite literally a constantly changing maze. There were hundreds of staircases, many of which led to different places altogether depending on what mood it happened to be in. There were doors that weren't doors but walls that were pretending, and walls that weren't walls but floors that wanted a change of pace. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other and the suits of armour refused to stand guard. When they were lost all they had to do was wait for an older student to approach Harry and ask to see his scar and they had their personal guide to whatever classroom they were in search of.

The ghosts - once the shock had worn off - were also a great source of assistance. Sir Nicky was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, and the Hufflepuff ghost - the Fat Friar - always had a shortcut up his sleeve for late students. 

Peeves on the other hands, was a constant source of torment. When caught unaware, he would turn wastebaskets over the students heads, pull rugs out from under them or use chalk to write dirty words on the backs of their black school robes.

Worse than Peeves, or at the very least, equally horrid, was the caretaker Argus Filch, who was constantly monitoring the halls in search of rule-breaking and other infractions. He owned a cat named Mrs Norris, a scrawny, dust coloured creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone and would dash off to find Filch at the first sign of rule-breaking. Filch, who knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone save perhaps the wondrous Weasley twins, would appear a second later, wheezing and ready with detention slips. 

Luckily for Harry and Ron, they had managed, on their very first morning, to get on the good side of that scrawny little cat. It was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good swift kick, and that seemed just the scene that Harry and Ron, hopelessly lost, walked in on. Three, third or fourth year Slytherin girls had cornered Mrs Norris in the hallway a mischievous staircase had deposited them in. One of the girls - detention slip in hand - reared back her leg and would have done who knows what had Harry not screamed like a banshee and ran towards them, arms flailing about in the air. Ron scooped up the frightened cat before she could run straight to Filch and the two of them petted her until - half a dozen scratches later - she was purring happily. Once they had explained where they had wanted to go - Ron muttering all the while that they looked a couple of right idiots talking to the cat - she led them to just where they asked.

Of course, once you had managed to find them, there were the actual lessens themselves to attend to. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly learned, than flicking your wrist and looking at sparkles appear.

They had midnight lessons in Astronomy, classes in Herbology with the Hufflepuff's head of house, stout Professor Sprout, History lessons taught by the most boring ghost not living, Charms lessons taught by a wizard so tiny he had to stand atop a pile of books to see over his desk. He gave an excited squeak when he reached Harry's name on the register and toppled out of sight.

Then there was Transfiguration, taught by Gryffindor's head of house, Professor McGonagall who was indeed, as Harry had thought, not someone to cross. She warned them that she had a zero tolerance policy in her class - if you were caught messing about, you would be not be welcome.

Then she changed her desk into a very reasonable mate for Dudley - a pig - and changed it back again. The class was all terribly impressed and were eager to get started. Their first task was to turn a match into needle. By the end of the lesson, Harry's match was far from needle'like but could stand upright on his desk and dance a jig. Hermione Granger was the only one who made any difference to her match. It had gone all shiny and pointy and earned Hermione one of Professor McGonagall's rare smiles. Harry wondered if she smiled so seldom because her face was pulled back so tight in her bun.

While Harry had been waiting eagerly for Potions - or cooking class, as he thought of it - the class most of the Gryffindors were anticipating was Defence Against the Dark Arts, taught by a rather nervous Professor Quirrell, whose classroom smelled strongly of garlic. He wore a large purple turban that seemed terribly out of fashion - even for wizards - and worst of all, the garlic smell seemed to trail about from underneath. The class on the whole was a bit of a joke, Professor Quirrell seemed to be afraid of his own shadow and more than terrified of the lessons he stammered through. 

The scent in the room bothered Harry more than most, and he left the class dizzy, with a dull headache, and his scar throbbing. 

Friday was met with a sparkle in Harry's bright green eyes. Not only did they have the afternoon off but they would spend the morning in their first ever magical cooking class!

To add to the joy of the day, Ron and Harry made it to the Great Hall without getting lost even once.

"What have we got today?" Ron asked.

"Cooking with the Slytherins!" Harry cried ecstatically. Even Ron grinned reluctantly, they would finally have a class with Draco whom they hadn't had a chance to do more than wave at from across the house tables since they arrived at Hogwarts.

"Professor Snape's head of Slytherin house. They say he favours them - so I guess it can't hurt to sit with Malfoy, then." 

"Ron!" Harry admonished, slapping him on the arm.

Just then, the post arrived. Harry had got used to this by now but it still tickled him to see the hundred or so owls suddenly streaming into the Great Hall majestically during breakfast, circling the tables until they spotted their owners and delivered packages and letters onto their laps. 

Harry had introduced Ron and Twinkle as soon as he could, taking him up to the school owlery where the students' and schools' owls slept. Twinkle had taken to Ron right away, and took a letter to Ron's parents telling them he had been sorted into Gryffindor. She hadn't brought anything for Harry so far but had come to snuggle his chin and nibble his ear each morning nonetheless, sneaking a bit of his scones and cream in the process. This morning however, she fluttered down between the ambrosia and the sugar bowl and dropped a note on to Harry's plate. Harry was overjoyed and opened the note at once. 

__

Hello Little Dainty, it said in a very untidy scrawl, and proceeded to invite Harry to tea that afternoon to tell Hagrid all about his week at school. Harry scribbled "Yes, please, I'll bring my friend Ron and see you at three!"

Potions lessons took place in one of the cold dungeons, the room packed with pickled previously living things, and some things that still seemed to be squirming.

Harry and Ron met Neville at the class entrance and surprised the class by sitting in the middle with Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. 

Harry knew that the two ugly imbecile brutes still didn't know for sure whether he had made fun of them on the train - which made him feel extra guilty about having done it. They weren't all bad, they seemed to stand up for Draco when it looked as though Harry would slap him, that made them loyal friends, didn't it? Besides, it wasn't nice to make fun of people for things they couldn't help. It was as bad as the way the Dursleys taunted him. Harry forced himself not to cringe at the boys, and turned his frown upside down, changing each grimace into a smile so they would feel welcome. He wasn't sure if it was working, they grunted a bit and smiled back now and again, but mainly they just looked confused at Harry's interest. 

Professor Snape, a rather hook nosed, sallow skinned, greasy haired wizard, began the class by taking the register, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new - _celebrity._" 

Many of the Slytherins laughed, Draco looked uncomfortable, as did Crabbe and Goyle after they looked to Draco and decided that discomfort was certainly what they should be feeling.

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels - the bad ones. He spoke in barely a whisper but certainly conveyed his passion toward the subject with his scornful but commanding presence. 

Silence followed after his opening remarks. Harry, Ron, and Draco exchanged looks with raised eyebrows - Draco's saying 'thank god I'm in Slytherin' and Harry and Ron's saying 'thank god we sat near the Slytherins.'

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry thanked his lucky stars he had spent some of his free time the last few days preparing for his much anticipated cooking class, and thanked them again that he had been trying to find out all about sleeping potions to figure out which one might have been used on the Dursleys.

"You'd get a powerful sleeping potion, Professor Snape!" Harry had decided that he liked saying that name, accentuating the 's' just slightly.

Professor Snape's eyes seemed to narrow. "It is called, the Draught of Living Death. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"In a goat's tummy, Professor Snape!"

"In its _tummy?_" 

"Yes, Professor Snape!" Draco slouched in his seat and had a hand to his forehead, while Ron had his head planted firmly on the desk, arms over head, both seeming to try to shield themselves from what was to come.

Professor Snape snorted loudly, "Bit of a dandy, then, are we?"

"Yes, sir!" Harry answered proudly, a delighted grin on his face. Ron groaned.

"That'll be five points for your cheek!"

"Thank you, Professor Snape!"

"That's five points _removed,_ Potter." Harry gasped, and slumped in his seat, baffled and defeated. He had thought the class would be wonderful, and had grown even more excited when he heard the passion for potions in the Professors voice. 

It went downhill from there. Professor Snape told them to get into pairs and set them to concocting a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around the classroom, his robes flaring dramatically, as he criticised almost everyone in the room except Draco, whom he seemed to like. He had just finished berating Neville - who had paired with Draco - for not pulling his weight, and commenting on the perfect way Draco - Mister Malfoy - had stewed his horned slugs in spite of the lack of assistance, when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Crabbe and Goyle had somehow managed to melt Goyle's cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, leaving burned holes in everything in its path. Crabbe and Goyle had been drenched in the potion and were collapsed on the floor grunting in pain and swiping at the liquid with their hands to brush it off of them. 

Professor Snape cleared up the spilled potion with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" he said angrily to the two grunting boys. They shrugged under their boils. Professor Snape rounded on Ron and Harry, the third pair in their group. "You - Potter - why didn't you tell them not to add the quills? Thought it would be funny to see two Slytherins writhing in agony, did you? That'll be another five points you've lost for Gryffindor." 

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth ready to wave his finger in that awful mans face and tell him what was what - Ron clapped his hand over Harry's mouth before anything could come out. "Don't do it, Harry," he whispered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

"Both of you, make yourself useful and take these boys to the hospital wing. You'll be expected to make up your potion before our next class if you wish to receive credit."

Ron and Harry escorted Crabbe and Goyle out of the classroom. The four of them made their way to the hospital wing in relative silence, save only the recurring grunts and moans of pain from the boil covered brutes. Once inside the two were immediately set upon by a Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts Mediwitch. She spelled off their robes and applied a bright orange salve to the boils before pointing her wand at the most effected areas and muttering a counter spell. 

Harry went back and forth between the two boys patting ones hand while the other was being tended by Madame Pomfrey, then switching when she tended to the other. Once she was finished, Crabbe and Goyle were instructed to stay put until bedtime when they could return to their dorms, at which point they would still be a bit red but not in any pain. 

"Vincent? Gregory?" Harry pouted quietly, "You know what Professor Snape said isn't true, don't you? Ron and I didn't want this to happen." They looked at him with attention now, clearly they had indeed thought Professor Snape had been telling the truth. "If we had seen you add the quills, we would have warned you, and you were doing so well until then we didn't think to check up on your potion." Harry sighed. "We're friends, aren't we?" The boys finally smiled and grunted their assent. It was just an accident. Harry and Ron turned to leave.

"Bye, Harry!" Crabbe and Goyle said in unison, waving their bandaged hands enthusiastically. Harry grimace-smiled and waved back.

As soon as they had reached a safe distance from the infirmary, Ron burst into snickers. "You're horrible! Flirting with Crabbe and Goyle!"

"I was not!" Harry said indignantly. "I was just being nice and you know it!"

"Okay, okay," Ron continued to laugh. "But Harry, in case you haven't noticed, _nobody's_ nice to Crabbe and Goyle."  
"Which is all the more reason to be, isn't it?"

Ron burst into a whole new round of snickers. "_Bye, Harry!"_ he mimicked Crabbe and Goyle using a high girlie voice. "I didn't know they could do anything but grunt until that!"

"Ron!" Harry giggled, slapping his arm for the second time that day. 

After lunch and some time in the library - doing homework and looking for a stitching spell Harry had heard about - they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of enormous galoshes were standing outside the door. 

Harry stopped Ron's hand from knocking, and climbed into one of the galoshes. With both feet fitting easily inside a single boot, Harry was covered to mid thigh. Ron laughed and climbed into the other boot before finally knocking on the door. 

When Ron knocked, they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out saying "Back, Fang - back."

Hagrid's big hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. "Hang on," he said. "_Back,_ Fang." He finally opened the door and burst into enormous guffaws. "Aren' the two of yer a sight!" he hoisted Ron and Harry up out of the galoshes and put them down inside the house. 

The house was one large room with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, an open fire with a copper kettle boiling, and a massive bed in the corner covered in a patchwork quilt.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, as a gigantic black boarhound bounded straight for Ron and started licking his ears. 

"Oh, he's just a big puppy-dog, isn't he?" Harry said, petting the big black hound. He introduced Ron and Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting cupcakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's hair and freckles. "It feels like I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The cupcakes were delicious, Hagrid said he was worried his home-made rock-cakes might hurt Harry's teeth and asked the elves to send some cupcakes instead. Ron and Harry told Hagrid all about their first lessons.

They told him about Professor Snape's class. Hagrid told Harry, and Ron agreed, that he shouldn't worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really _hate_ me!" Harry whined.

"Rubbish, little dainty!" said Hagrid with a grin. "Why should he?" 

Harry harrumphed, having no answer.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot - great with animals."

"He's in Romania, studying dragons." Ron replied.

Hagrid lit up, "Dragons!" Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work. 

Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, both carrying brown bags full of the remaining cupcakes. They had just entered the castle when Draco came towards them, his usual slightly bored look on his face, touched now with impatience.

"Harry," he said. "I was looking all over for you, look at this!" In his hands was a cut out from the _Daily Prophet,_ a wizarding newspaper. It outlined the as yet unsolved break-in of vault seven hundred and thirteen at Gringott's bank in London. "It says it was on the thirty first of July - that's the day you told me you had nearly been killed in Gringotts, isn't it? You might have been there during the break-in!" Draco tucked the clipping back into his robes.

"Malfoy, you don't know what you're talking about." 

"No, he does Ron." Harry pulled the two boys into an empty classroom and shut the door. "Hagrid and I weren't just there during the break-in, we were at that very vault just as the robber was breaking out!" Harry filled them in on what exactly had happened that day in Gringott's, elaborating slightly on just how grabby the assailant was and how much he dreadfully needed Hagrid's rescuing. 

"Whoa!" both Ron and Draco said when Harry had finished, finally agreeing on something.

"So what was in the package?" Ron asked.

"Like Hagrid would have dared to tell him, Weasley!" Draco sneered, his respect for Hagrid finally existent after the story of his valiant deed.

"I don't know what it was but it's something important, that's for sure." Harry 'eeked,' "And, I think it's here in the castle!"


	8. The Midnight Duel

****

Chapter Nine – The Midnight Duel

The three boys detoured to the owlery at Draco's request before heading to dinner.

"Half the Slytherins in our class will be writing their parents to tell them I was sitting with a Weasley. It's better if my father hears it from me first." He said, tying the note to his grand eagle owl.

"That's a Slytherin for you, ratting out their friends for something stupid!" Ron gibed.

Draco snorted. "You don't think half the Gryffindors parents aren't hearing about _you_ sitting with a Malfoy, right this minute?"

Ron blanched but wasn't about to openly agree with Draco to his face.

"Will your father be angry?" Harry pouted, his eyes wide with worry.

"Nah, he wants me to be seen on good terms with _The Boy-Who-Lived,_ I just told him Weasley comes with the package."

Ron gaped at him, "_Your_ father, _wants _you to be friends with Harry?!"

"No, Weasley, he wants me to be friends with The Boy-Who-Lived."

It was Ron's turn to snort. "Makes it easier to believe that the Malfoy's aren't in league with the Dark."

"Whatever are you two prattling about?" Harry sulked.

"The Malfoy's were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

Harry braced himself, waiting for Draco to argue, but he just smirked and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Ooooh, the rich and powerful Malfoy's are evil, big surprise." After a moment the three boys burst into laughter, Harry doubling over in giggles.

Harry convinced Ron to send a note home with Twinkle to warn his parents that he and Draco were kind of friends - but not to worry because Draco wasn't completely bad.

"Twinkle?!" Draco exclaimed upon introduction. "Geez Harry, does that actually mean something to you or was it just the girliest name you could think of?" 

Harry giggled, "It does so mean something. When I petted her with my wand in my hand, it sent twinkling sparkly lights up just like the first time I waved my wand - so the name Twinkle reminds me of that."

"So every time you pet your owl, it's like stroking your wand?" Draco heckled.

"Well if that's the case, then I'll have you know that I prefer a gentleman to ask before stroking my Twinkle." Harry tossed his head in triumph. Draco reddened and snatched his hand back from the snowy owl's down with a start. "Tease," Harry giggled.

Mainly so they wouldn't have to endure the entire school's stares by entering the Great Hall alone-together, Draco and Ron went reluctantly with Harry back to the hospital wing to visit Crabbe and Goyle. 

"Hi Vincent, hi Gregory!" 

"Hi Harry!" the brutes replied in unison, then turned and glared at each other.

"We went to visit Mr Hagrid today, and he sent us back with some cupcakes, I thought you might like them. Hospital food is supposed to be just horrid!" Harry put the paper bag on the nightstand between them but soon the boys were both tugging at it with their bandaged hands, trying to claim them as their own. "Heavens to Betsy!" Harry exclaimed, "they're meant for the both of you!" He divided up the treats to prevent a brawl.

The bed-bound brutes thanked Harry and waved at him again as he left.

"My goodness," Harry gasped, "Those boys do like their cupcakes!"

Draco and Ron nearly choked on their gales of laughter. 

"No Harry, it's just the _one_ cupcake they're after!"

Once the first year students were able to find their way to and from the Great Hall, their classes and the library without incident, they found that they had a lot more time at meals to chat with the elder students and other houses. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle weren't exactly welcome at the Gryffindor table and Ron, Harry, and Neville didn't fare better on the Slytherin side. Their only chance to really hang out as a group came during their potions class where the Slytherins believed that Malfoy was simply following orders from his father - and no one in Slytherin would dare question the Senior Malfoy's decisions - and the Gryffindors simply accepted that Ron, Harry, and Neville were stark raving bonkers. Things began looking up when they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday - and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together. 

The more Harry heard about flying, the more excited he became. He had never thought of a broom as anything but a tool for one of his many chores at the Dursley house - there was the one time he galloped around the kitchen pretending it was a horse but the lifeless broom left much to be desired, especially riding side-saddle. But now … Harry would literally be swept off his feet! He'd sit astride the magical rod and be scooped into the air, hands gripping the handle firmly - but gently. 

Harry was often seen fanning his flushed face with his hands, muttering to himself to 'calm down, calm down!" 

"You alright, Harry?" Ron asked. Harry giggled himself dizzy in reply.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry, Ron, and Draco wholeheartedly agreed that she had more than good reason to keep Neville as close to the ground as possible. Neville had an uncanny talent for getting into an extraordinary number of mishaps even with both feet firmly planted. The three other boys resolved to keep as near as possible to the clumsy boy to try and keep him out of trouble - while staying far enough away that if they couldn't prevent an accident, none of them would break anything during his tumble.

Hermione Granger was nearly as nervous about flying as Neville was - being that it was something the book smart know-all couldn't learn from a text - though not for lack of trying. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all cross-eyed with flying tips, Neville hanging on her every word. Everyone else practically erupted into cheers when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post.

Harry hadn't had any proper letters since Hagrid's note - just silly messages from Draco and oddly enough, daily hello's from both Crabbe and Goyle.

"Another one, Cupcake?" Ron teased as Goyle's lumpy brown owl deposited its small burden, Crabbe's having already come and gone.

Harry sighed, "'_Hi Harry _- _see you in flying today.'_" He turned to wave at the two boys at the Slytherin table, noting the smirk on Draco's face.

"Aww, Cupcake's boyfriend's couldn't wait to say hello."

"They're not my boyfriends!" Harry huffed, "and stop calling me that!" Draco and Ron, and even Neville on occasion had taken to calling Harry 'Cupcake' after the hospital incident. Harry noticed Neville opening a package and pounced to him, relieved to find a way to change the subject. "Whatever do you have there, Neville?"

Neville showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"Oooh," Harry gushed, "it's so pretty!"

"It's a Rememberall!" Neville explained. "Gran sent it, she knows I forget things - this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red - oh …" His face fell, because the Rememberall had suddenly glowed scarlet. "It means -"

"- You've forgotten something." The table finished the sentence for him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry skipped down the front steps into the grounds with the other Gryffindors for their first flying lesson. Draco and the Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry jumped up and down with anticipation, Fred and George Weasley had said that the school brooms would actually start to vibrate if you flew too high - Harry intended to test that claim - vibrating brooms indeed!

"Harry, calm down - you'll do fine." Ron said.

"I'm not nervous Ron!" Harry continued to jump and shuffle, "I was born to do this!"

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had stylishly short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. And you there - stop dancing!"

Harry eyed his broom. It was scuffed and some of the twigs poked out at odd angles - it was just what Harry wanted, a broom that was obviously mature and had a lot of experience under its belt.

"Stick your right hand out over the shaft -" Harry squealed "- and say 'Up!'" Madam Hooch instructed.

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Before Harry could even finish the word, the broom had leap into his hand, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over a bit and Neville's seemed to be shuffling away from him. 

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms - Harry squealed again - and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Ron and Draco jaws dropped in shock when Madam Hooch awarded Gryffindor five points for Harry's perfect positioning.

There were a few rough moments when they first kicked off the ground and into the air. Flanked by Ron and Draco, Neville was saved twice during their first attempts to hover just off the ground. Their efforts proved to be in vain when he leaned forward much too harshly while bringing the broom back down and ended up being thrown as if by a bucking bronco.

WHAM - a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay on the grass in a heap.

With strict instructions for everyone to stay on the ground, Madam Hooch guided Neville - hobbling and biting his lip to keep from crying in front of his friends - to the hospital wing.

"Look!" said Draco, pointing at something shining in the grass. "What's that?"

"It's Neville's Rememberall! Oh, I do hope it isn't broken!" Harry moved toward the smoke filled ball, sitting in the grass a few metres away. 

"I'll get it for you, Harry!" Crabbe exclaimed, already running. Goyle glared and made off after his friend. He pushed Crabbe over as he was bending down to pick up the ball, and the two began a nasty scuffle for its possession. They tumbled across the lawn, brooms tangled in limbs and hands prying each other in an attempt to release the others grasp on the object of desire. Crabbe finally broke away and seeing Goyle just a step behind him and feeling the broom in his hand he mounted quickly and vaulted into the air. Goyle was not far behind. The two fought on broomsticks now, spiralling upwards, both of them with one hand on their broomstick, one holding the glass ball, and using their legs to fight the other.

"Stop! Boys, stop!" Harry wailed. Crabbe and Goyle showed no signs of relinquishing their hold on the glass ball. "Men!" he humphed. Rolling back the sleeves of his robe with a deliberate air, Harry gave his shoulders a shimmy and grabbed his broom.

"_No!_" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll get us all into trouble."

Harry put his hand on his hip, "Honey, sometimes a girl's got to break the rules!" and with that, he mounted the broom, took a dainty leap and soared into the sky. He felt the air ripple through his hair and tossed his mane gleefully, this was wonderful. The feel of the broomstick between his legs was so perfect, so natural, it seemed he knew just what to do. He arched his back and pulled his broomstick up a little bit, taking it up almost vertically. There were screams and gasps from the girls back on the ground and admiring whoops from Draco and the Gryffindor boys.

He turned his broomstick sharply to give Crabbe and Goyle a proper tongue lashing. "Vincent! Gregory!" He screeched shrilly, "get down off those brooms this instant!" 

The boys halted their fighting mid-kick, "Hi Harry!" they gave Harry their most winning smiles and waved in unison, using their broom-hands. Both of their broomsticks lurched and boys were forced to scramble for their broomsticks for safety, the Rememberall was caught in the scuffle and thrown high into the air. Harry gasped, his eyes opened as wide as could be as he watched it reach its apex and begin its descent. Harry poured all his vexation into the huffiest look his could manage at the bickering brutes and took off after the Rememberall. He leaned forwards and pointed his broom as far down as he could without gravity pulling him off - he raced against the glass ball, urging his broomstick to go faster - the wind licked at his ears - he stretched out his hand and felt the cool glass ball in his palm, then wrenched the broom away from the fast approaching ground. With a hop, skip and finally a jump, Harry had dismounted the broomstick and ran towards the crowd of cheering Gryffindors. 

"Harry Potter!" Harry's heart sank faster than a pageant contestant's whose name was just announced as the runner up, Professor McGonagall was running towards them. "_Never_ - in all my time at Hogwarts - " Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "- how _dare_ you - might have broken your neck - "

"It wasn't his fault Professor -"

"Be quiet, Mr Goyle -"

"But -"

"That's _enough_, Mr Crabbe. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry followed in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode towards the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. And then what would happen to him? He couldn't go back to the Dursleys. He wanted to say something to defend himself but he knew anything he said would just get Crabbe and Goyle into trouble. 

Harry slumped up the stairs and into the castle, his lips were pouted and trembling. Professor McGonagall finally stopped outside of a classroom. She opened the door, poked her head inside and asked Professor Flitwick if she could borrow 'Wood' for a moment. Probably some magical punishment stick, Harry thought. He didn't know if he should laugh or cry, after all the years at the Dursleys, he was finally in for a spanking.

But Wood turned out to be a person - not just a person, but an older muscly boy with sparkling eyes. Harry allowed himself a small grin. The two boys followed Professor McGonagall into an empty classroom.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood - I've found you a Seeker."  
Wood's expression changed from charming puzzlement to almost frightening delight. Harry thought he saw madness in those eyes.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. He recalled the lengthy discussion on the Hogwarts Express, they wanted him to play Quidditch. They wanted him to play a sport that had nothing to do with jumping rope, but did involve riding a broomstick as high and fast as he could. The feeling returned to his legs just in time for them to turn to jelly.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood, "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it." 

The glint of madness intensified in Wood's eyes, a glimmer of it reflected in Professor McGonagall's own. The two began discussing possible broomsticks for Harry and twice Wood prodded Harry's side and nodded approval - perfect build for a seeker, he said. 

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Then suddenly she smiled, "Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself." 

Draco endured the Gryffindors glares and made his way next to Harry and Ron during dinner.

"Where are Vincent and Gregory?" Harry asked. Ron snorted.

"Hospital wing," Draco answered, smirking. "They had pummelled each other bloody by the end of the flying lesson." 

Harry rolled his eyes but Draco wasn't finished.

"Crabbe challenged Goyle to a wizard's duel - midnight tonight in the trophy room."

Ron laughed, "I can't imagine either of them know enough magic to do any damage."

"Nah," Draco agreed. "They'll just start throwing punches. Either way, you should probably be there, Harry."

"What?!" Harry wailed.

"Well, seeing as they're fighting over _you,_ Cupcake - you should probably show up." Draco smirked again, "You too Weasley, Goyle named you as his second." 

Ron made a muffled sound and pumpkin juice came out of his nose. "What?!" he exclaimed to Draco's laughing but retreating back. 

"Why are they still fighting?" Harry pouted.

"Crabbe blames Goyle for you getting hauled off by McGonagall - says if he had just let him get the 'shiny ball' you wouldn't have got in trouble."

"But I didn't get in trouble." Harry humphed and put his chin in his palms. "We'll have to go tonight to keep them from fighting."

"Well Cupcake, if you'd stop playing with their hearts and just pick one of them to be your boyfriend - they wouldn't have to fight anymore would they?" Ron laughed and was promptly hit with Harry's viciously thrown green pea.

"They're _not_ my boyfriends!" he exclaimed for the thousandth time.

"Excuse me."

They both looked up, Ron wiping the spattered green pea off his face. It was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. "I couldn't help overhearing what Malfoy was saying - "  
Harry reached up and flicked her nose, "Nosy, nosy." He scolded as she yelped.

"Tink ub aw de points yowl doose ip your caught," she continued to lecture, holding her stung nose. "Ip's riwly bery selbish ub you!" 

Harry and Ron lay awake until they heard their roommates Dean and Seamus falling asleep, Neville hadn't returned from the hospital wing. There really was a good chance they were going to get caught and Harry felt his was pushing his luck breaking another school rule today. But like Draco said, the two dumpling headed boys were fighting over him and it wouldn't do not to make an appearance.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last. "We'd better go."  
They pulled on their dressing gowns, picked up their wands - just in case - and crept into the common room. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice sniped at them from the chair nearest. "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger.

"_You!_" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

Harry flicked her on the nose again - harder this time - as she was threatening to tattle. He hadn't met such a busy-body since the Yellow Tuna! He harrumphed at the girl in exasperation and climbed through the portrait hole.

Hermione wasn't giving up that easily, she followed Ron through the portrait hole and continued her nasal tirade.

"Go away." The anger in Ron's voice finally shut the prattling girl up.

"Pine bud I borned you," she called to their departing backs. "You jusd rebeber but I seb ben your on the twain hobe toborrow, you're so -" she interrupted herself and gasped.

The boys were already nearing the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them. Apparently the Fat Lady had gone on a night-time visit, leaving Hermione locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Hey guys," a sleepy voice sounded. Harry, Ron, and Hermione jumped a foot in the air. "I knew you'd come!" Neville picked himself up from his place on the floor.

"What are you doing out here?!" Ron exclaimed quietly.  
"I've been out here for hours! Crabbe - er - Vincent and Gregory told me about the duel when they were in the hospital wing today. I figured you two were going."

"You silly goose," Harry chided, "you didn't have to wait out here if you wanted to come with us!"

Neville turned red. "I - um - I forgot the password."

Ron snorted and raised the sleeve on Neville's left arm. There just below the elbow, in tiny letters, was the word 'Pigsnout.'

Neville's blush deepened, "I forgot that, too."

The four students made their way cautiously to the trophy room, Hermione tut-tutting every few steps. They found the three Slytherins just inside.

Draco nodded to Neville, seeing he was properly mended, then sneered, "What is _she_ doing here?" 

With a nod from Draco, Crabbe and Goyle stopped glaring at each other just long enough to say 'Hi' to Harry, and hoist Hermione up from under each arm, deposit her outside and close the door. 

Harry rolled his eyes before launching in on Crabbe and Goyle. After explaining that he had in fact been placed on the Quidditch team and not expelled, he warned them to stop their nonsense and get to bed.

"Wood wants that kept quiet though," Ron added, noticing Draco's smirk. "At least give us a day or two before you blab." 

Draco agreed.

They found Hermione waiting outside the door, beet-red with anger. She opened her mouth to begin screeching at them.

"Hush!" Harry interrupted. "Did you hear something?" 

A noise in the next room made them all jump. It was a distinct 'meow.' 

They tiptoed as fast as they could toward the end of the hall. Another 'meow' was heard. Neville let out a frightened squeak and tripped, crashing into a suit of armour, bringing it, and Ron down with him.

The seven students looked at each other aghast before Draco bellowed "Run!" and they all took off. At the end of next hall, the Slytherins and Gryffindors separated, trying to make they're way to their respective dormitories. 

The Gryffindors tore through the halls until they ran into Peeves - the poltergeist took special pleasure in tormenting Neville and with a roar that echoed throughout the castle, he announced their location. The group ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a locked door.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, "We're done for!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch was running as fast as he could towards Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, and unlocked the door with a spell.

The lock clicked and they piled through, closing the door behind them. Outside, they could hear Filch having just as hard a time with Peeves as they had. 

They sighed and waited for their eyes to adjust to the dark room. Harry scanned the room and began backing up squashing Ron, Neville and Hermione against the door. Neville's squirms and 'eeks' indicated that he too was aware of the nightmare they had walked into. They weren't in a room, as Harry first supposed, they were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor the Headmaster warned them against during the welcoming feast. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous, three headed, rabid dog, foaming at the mouth, saliva dripping from pointy yellowish fangs.

"Eeeeeeeek!" Harry screamed, and ushered the group out of the corridor, slamming it behind them once again. Filch was nowhere to be seen. They ran as if being chased by - well - a three headed dog, and didn't stop until they were safely inside the Gryffindor common room. 

Harry pulled himself out of one of the squashy armchairs and turned to Hermione, who looked just about composed enough to start lecturing again. "Time for me to get my beauty sleep," he said. "I suggest _you_ do the same." Harry dragged Neville and Ron to their dorm-room and the three of them slumped into their beds.

"Ron," Harry whispered, before falling asleep. "I think I know where Hagrid's parcel is!"


	9. Hallowe'en

****

Chapter 10 – Hallowe'en

Ron, Harry, and Neville grinned in relief when Draco swaggered into the Great Hall the next morning and flashed them a quick thumbs up sign. Their Slytherin friends had made it back to their dorms without capture. Harry returned the sign with a wink. Indeed, by morning the three Gryffindor boys thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure and – despite Neville's ghostly pale face – they were quite keen to have another one.

Harry filled Ron in on what he had seen in the corridor with the monstrous dog.

"A trapdoor?" Ron questioned, his eyes widened in understanding, "Then that's where the – _you know what_ – might be. Must be pretty special if Dumbledore's willing to keep a monster in the castle just to protect it."

"Goodness Ron, a bandit was willing to risk robbing Gringotts for it! It could be the Queen's own jewels!"

Ron nodded and motioned for Harry to keep his voice down. That Hermione was poking her head around again and, while now refusing to talk to either of them – which pleased them both to bits – she still seemed more than willing to listen in on their conversations.

Their free time was often spent trying to guess just what the three headed hellhound could be hiding, and once Draco mentioned that the small parcel might really be a magically shrunken larger object, trying to figure out what it was truly became an impossible task.

"I know," Harry batted his lashes, about a week later during breakfast. "I'll see about baking some gigantic doggie biscuits, you can feed them to the beast, and Draco will peek under the trapdoor!" Ron vetoed the idea immediately and they went back to their elaborate guessing game. A few moments later a much needed distraction arrived in the post.

Everyone's attention was caught at once when a long thin package was dropped in front of Harry, sending his scones flying and leaving Ron with a dollop of cream on his nose. Ron had scarcely wiped his nose when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry opened the letter first – and thank goodness he did as it was a message from Professor McGonagall telling him not to open the parcel – a brand new broomstick! – at the table.

"It's my racing broom," Harry gasped. "She says I'll start my Quidditch training this evening!" Ron and Harry's eyes met, glinting dangerously. They leaped from their seats, hauling Neville up from his toast and jam (with marshmallows and bananas), caught Draco's and the brutes attention at the Slytherin table and bolted from the Great Hall.

"What is it?" Draco snapped, out of breath once they had finally stopped in an empty classroom.

"McGonagall's sent him his Quidditch broom!" Ron exclaimed. The six boys vaulted upon the package and tore the wrapping away in less than a second.

Crabbe and Goyle grunted with awe, the other boys simply gasped and gaped. There before them, lay the most magnificent piece of flying equipment they had ever seen. Mature and experienced seemed fine for Harry's first flying lesson but new and untouched was even more appealing.

"It's so shiny!" Harry finally squealed, clapping his hands together.

"Shiny?!" said Ron, "it's better than just shiny, Harry, that's a _Nimbus Two Thousand!_"

Harry could hardly wait for seven o'clock to arrive and made his way to the Quidditch pitch as soon as seemed reasonable. He mounted his broomstick long before Oliver Wood appeared and spent the time dancing with his broom, high in the air until he was called to the ground.

"Very nice," said Oliver when Harry landed next to him.

Harry shimmied his shoulders, "Thank you," he cooed. 

After a few minutes discussing the basics Harry's mood began to dim. He realised that, while he liked wizards, and Ron liked witches, muscly Oliver Wood – liked Quidditch. Harry was pouting by the end of their talk, perking up only at the prospect of getting back on his broom. The rest of the practice was spent in the air, with Oliver throwing golf balls as hard as he could, every which way for Harry to catch. He didn't miss a single one.

"That Quidditch cup will have our name on it this year," said Oliver as they parted ways on the way back to the castle. Oliver to return the Quidditch equipment and Harry to return to the dorms.

The halls were void of all living things – dead things too. Harry could feel the tingle of magic in the castle it was so still. He had never been on that side of the building after dinner and apparently nobody else ventured out that way so late either. His feet began to skip on their own accord while he cradled _Mr Nimble_ in his arms like a cuddly pet. He turned a corner and found yet another completely bare hallway. The temptation was too much to bare. With a quick glance around to ensure he was still alone, he mounted Mr Nimble and began zipping his way through the halls toward Gryffindor tower. Only twice during the trip did his restraint give way, and he let out a much deserved "Yippee!"

He reached the top of the last set of stairs before the portrait hole and couldn't believe his luck. He had turned what would have been a long and terribly boring walk into a death defying thrill ride right through the castle. He looked down the top of the staircase and decided he'd take one more chance. He propped Mr Nimble against the wall and leaped up onto the banister. With an "Umph" and a push he was sliding backwards down the banister at top speed. He shrieked with glee as momentum worked its magic at the bottom of the stairs and vaulted him into the air off the slope of the banister.

****

WHOOMP! Harry landed, not on his feet as intended but in a strangely soft heap. He scrambled to his feet and opened his eyes as wide as could be. A sight as terrifying as the three headed hound greeted him. Filch was climbing to his feet from his splayed out position on the floor. Deciding that flight was certainly his best course of action, Harry turned to bolt up the stairs but was snapped back by a hand clutching the neck of his robes.

"DETENTION!" Filch bellowed, his face erupting into a more than fair impression of Uncle Vernon's patented shade of purple. He shoved the detention slip in Harry's shaking hand and let go of his robes, allowing the trembling boy to flee up the stairs and through the portrait hole, barely slowing to grab Mr Nimble. 

"What happened?" Ron exclaimed upon seeing Harry's blanched face. Harry handed him the slip and collapsed onto an empty sofa. "Detention with Filch for … sliding down the Gryffindor banister?" Ron burst into laughter. 

"Wicked!" Fred and George said in unison, making their way over to Harry and plopping down on either side of him. 

"But how'd you get caught?" Fred asked.

"Filch doesn't normally patrol this close to the common room." George continued.

Harry blushed but grinned coyly at the boys. "I rode my broom in from Quidditch practice and I um … made too much noise." 

Ron snorted while the twins shared a knowing look.

"Ahh," George started, "Another boy who likes the broomstick –" Harry blushed again.

"- It's no wonder Oliver is so eager to have you on the team!" Fred grinned.

"Oliver –" Harry giggled, widening his eyes at the twins, "he's a bit mad, isn't he?"

Fred nodded in agreement and leaned towards him, "He's a good guy – "

George leaned in as well, "And a great captain and keeper, but – "

"Never touch his broomstick without permission – "

"He gets right jealous!" The boys laughed.

"I'm sure it's safe to touch his broom," Harry giggled, "but I think he's doing unnatural things with the Quidditch balls!" 

Fred and George roared with laughter and clapped Harry's knees, Harry squealed with delight.

"Alright, enough of that," Ron interrupted, pulling Harry off the couch. Harry pouted but allowed Ron to drag him up to their dorm.

Once inside, Ron looked at Harry incredulously.

"How can you be so calm?!" he exclaimed.

"Whatever are you talking about?" Harry sulked.

"The detention Harry – they're going to send an owl to your Uncle's house." 

"What?!" Harry gasped.

"Fred and George have got tons of detentions and every time they did, an owl came to tell my parents! They'll know you're here, Harry."

Harry pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and flopped down on his bed.

"What are you going to do?" Ron asked.

"Maybe … Maybe, this isn't so bad." Harry sat up slowly. "As long as that lumpy spread of jelly knows I'm never coming back, he might just ignore the owls – or even play along." He began rummaging through his trunk until he found a quill and parchment. "I need to owl them before the Hogwarts note arrives – I'll tell the Headmaster that the Dursleys asked if they would just lick a stamp like regular people instead of sending owls." He scribbled furiously as he spoke, "By the time the Hogwarts letter arrives, Vernon will have calmed down enough to see reason." 

The boys rushed to the owlery to send Harry's post off lickety split with Twinkle.

Between classes, homework, Quidditch practice, and actually having friends, Harry was shocked to realise that nearly two months had gone by since he arrived at Hogwarts. The castle had become his home, more so as he still had no idea where he would go once the summer holidays arrived.

On Hallowe'en morning Harry awoke with his nose in the air, breathing in the heavenly scent of baked goods that had consumed the corridors and influenced his dreams. The students had a delectable feast to look forward to that evening and to enhance the day's excitement, Professor Flitwick had announced that they were ready to advance past the basics in Charms and start making objects fly! Professor Flitwick instructed the class to partner up to practice. Neville latched onto Harry's hand leaving a much dismayed Ron to work with Hermione Granger. 

The charm was a difficult one. Harry and Neville practised their swish and flick wand movements till their wrists hurt but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward refused to budge. 

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry and Neville rolled their eyes at Hermione's snappish comments, "It's Wing-_gar-_dium Levi-_o-_sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione turned her nose into the air, flicked her wand and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads. Hermione turned and gave Ron a look that said '_see?_' while Professor Flitwick clapped and cheered, praising her success.

Ron was in a rotten temper by the end of class. "It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry as he stormed a path through the crowded corridor. "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Harry squealed as someone pushed past, knocking right into him. It was Hermione. Harry's mood fell as he caught a glimpse of her face, she was in tears.

"Oh dear," Harry whimpered, "I think she's heard you."

"So?" Ron answered back, but he too looked uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

"I think she was crying though." Harry couldn't imagine going back to not having any friends, and he knew that while it was tolerable, it was that much harder to take when you added people making fun of you to the mix. If only she wasn't so easy not to like.

Ron perked up, "If you start being nice to her and she starts mooning over you like Crabbe and Goyle …"

"I won't be sending her any cupcakes, I can promise you that!" Harry smiled as well.

Hermione didn't turn up for their next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. 

Harry broke away from Ron and Neville on their way down to the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en feast when they heard Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown mention Hermione's name.

"Hey pretty kitty's," Harry grinned. The girls grinned back and gave their friend a quick hug. They told Harry that Hermione was crying in the girls' toilets and wanted to be left alone. Harry's heart dropped at the news and he slumped back to Ron and Neville looking dejected.

"We have to apologise, Ron." Ron looked still more awkward at this pronouncement but sent Neville ahead to the Great Hall to save them seats together for the feast. Ron and Harry made their way to the girls bathroom in silence. 

Ron flushed red and planted his feet at the bathroom door, "I'm not going in there! She can come out if she wants an apology!" Harry rolled his eyes and pushed into the bathroom alone.

"Hermione?" Harry cooed, "Are you in here?" He heard a sniff from the farthest stall. "Ron and I came to apologise for being such doodie heads today – well … Ron's apologising from the hallway because apparently _real men_ don't enter the girls loo." A soft muffled giggle replaced the sniffing but the stall door remained closed. "Now see here, missy," Harry sniped with a grin, "if you don't come out, I'm climbing under – and I don't care what you're doing in there!" The voice inside giggled softly again before inching a bushy head out of the stall.

"Well," Harry humphed, "you can levitate a feather on your first try but it takes you two months to manage a smile!"

"Don't be nice to me just because you feel guilty, I know you don't like me … nobody does." She added softly.

"Honey, I'm not going to lie to you – you're not popular."

Hermione rolled her bloodshot eyes but her lip began to tremble again.

"Hush now, Hermione. I don't think it's really _you_ that people don't like."

"What do you mean?"

"Well … are you _really_ a stuck up, busybody, know-all?" he sing-songed.

"I …" Hermione blushed, "Well, I'm not stuck up!" 

Harry's grin faded, "What's that smell?"

Hermione rolled her eyes again, "This is a _bathroom_, Harry."

Harry was shaking his head as a scream rang through the halls, the door to the loo flew open. Ron scrambled inside, locked the door and pressed his back against it, breathing hard.

"There's a troll!" he panted, "Just outside!"

"It's Hallowe'en silly," Harry giggled, "here you are screaming like a little girl and running into the _girls_ toilets because of the entertainment the Headmaster's lined up for the feast!"

Ron's face reddened deeper than his hair as Harry and Hermione giggled. Their giggles were cut short as the bathroom door burst inward, the lock pulling right out of the wall. Ron was thrown forward with the door, landing in a heap against the wall. A foul stench assaulted the room, and a granite grey hulking mass entered the loo. The stoop over the doorway broke away as the twelve foot troll lumbered in, being too stupid to duck and instead just crashing through. It was holding a massive wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

Harry pushed Hermione behind him – both of them screaming like banshees – and pressed them both up against the opposite wall.

"The Great Hall – it's that way!" Harry squealed in a panic, pointing to the doorway into the hall. The troll waggled its ears as though processing the information, then seemed to decide it wasn't interested. It grunted and swung its club almost casually at the wall above Ron's body, leaving the boy covered in dust and debris. 

"Get away from him this instant you stinking mound of rot!" Harry yelled and rushed at the troll threatening his friend. He kicked at the troll's tree trunk legs and pounded his fists against his midsection.

Harry's onslaught seemed only to irritate the beast but it did turn its attention away from Ron. Ron climbed to his feet and, swaying just slightly, joined in on the attack on the troll. The beast continued to swing its club, forcing Harry and Ron to stop their assault in order to duck and cover. It knocked over the sinks and stall doors.

"Help us Hermione!" Harry wailed, startling the girl out of her shocked inertia. 

She came to her senses and raised her wand, "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_ she bellowed. The club rose from the trolls fist, it cocked its head to stare in confusion at the slowly levitating wooden bat. Ron and Harry backed away towards Hermione and with a quick nod to each other, they repeated Hermione's spell – Harry restraining his elaborate swish flick and Ron stressing the 'gar' – the bat rose higher and stronger with their combined spells.

Ron counted out, "One!" the others caught on, "two … THREE!" they swung their wands downward and slammed the club over the trolls head, sending it crashing into the floor.

Harry poked the troll in the bum with his toe. "I hope this thing wasn't part of the grand finale." The three tittered nervously, out of breath and still fearful for their lives.

A sudden storm of loud footsteps made the three raise their wands again, a moment later, Professor McGonagall had slid to a stop inside the room, followed closely by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll while Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry like she might pull out her wand and transfigure them both into something horrid.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" she asked, her words trembling with cold fury.

Harry had had enough. "What were _we_ thinking of? What were _you_ thinking of, letting this hellion run loose through the castle?" he snapped his fingers at Professor McGonagall but wasn't finished. "We could have been killed – Ron _was_ nearly killed! Look at him, covered in – in _wall!_" he stamped his foot and placed his hands on his hips, readying himself to continue. The standing Professors looked shocked and livid, Quirrell merely continued to whimper from the toilet.

Hermione and Ron placed their hands on Harry's shoulders, keeping him from saying anything more. 

"May we go Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked, her hand half raised as though she were in class. "We have to clean ourselves up and we'd like to make it to the Hallowe'en feast before it's over."

Much of the anger seemed to drain out of Professor McGonagall, replaced by suspicious understanding. "The feast has been cancelled on account of the troll _breaking into _the castle. All students have been sent to their dormitories." Her lips pressed back into their thin line. "Now, why were you three not at the feast?"

Harry and Ron's faces flushed with embarrassment as it donned on them that they had been found inside the girls toilet, and recalled what had brought them there in the first place. They braced themselves for the tirade that would follow when Professor McGonagall learned that they had made Hermione cry. Harry opened his mouth to fess up.

Hermione rushed ahead, "We were going down to the feast together and I had to use the washroom. The troll came by and Ron and Harry came in to hurry me up because they knew I'd want to see it – we thought it was part of the entertainment for the feast tonight so we didn't look for a teacher – but then the troll broke in and attacked us!"

Harry and Ron nodded in agreement and tried to look as though this story wasn't at all new to them.

"Well – in that case …" said a stunned Professor McGonagall. "Not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses." 

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until muttering a quick 'pig snout' at the portrait of the Fat Lady. The common-room was packed and noisy, everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. The noise died down when the Gryffindors caught sight of Ron who was still nearly completely white with dust from the bathroom wall. 

"What in heavens name happened to you?!" Percy's lips were pressed into a line thinner than Professor McGonagall's. 

There was a very embarrassed pause between the troll fighting trio before Harry winked at Neville and burst out with a series of half truths about how they happened into the girls loo. 

"Uh … Hermione …" Ron turned to the bushy haired girl and stammered, "About this morning … I, um … you know …"

Hermione acknowledged his attempt at an apology and shared a shy grin with the two boys before Ron escaped to the first year boys dorm to wash up and change robes. When he returned, the three sat with Neville and began recounting their tale in full.

"I was trying to kick it in the groin," Harry exclaimed, "but it didn't do anything at all! Do trolls even have a proper crotch?" 

Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice as she reddened and stammered.

Ron waved her incoherent reply away, "You'll get used to him," he said by way of explanation. Hermione grinned at his welcoming and accepting words. There are some things you just can't share without ending up friends, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


	10. Quidditch

**Chapter 11 – Quidditch**

Harry was greeted the next morning by exuberant waves and shouts of 'Hi Harry' from Crabbe and Goyle … and a death look from Draco as the three Slytherins entered the Great Hall.

"Where were you last night?!" Draco fumed moments later, forgoing the Slytherin table completely and marching directly to Harry and Ron's seats on the Gryffindor side. "Don't you know there was a troll running around?" Ron and Harry gaped in shock and downright fear at Draco's mother hen routine. Neville too felt hell slowly freezing over and shrunk behind Harry in fright.

"Do you know what it's like to share a room with two crying idiots?" Draco continued venomously. "Both of them thinking little Harry missed the feast because he'd been eaten by a raving troll? And keeping me up all night in the process!" Ron, Harry, and Neville breathed a sigh of relief, and Harry began filling Draco in on the previous nights events - Hermione jumping in every so often to correct Harry's embellishments.

"You fought the troll." Draco kept his normally bored drawl under control while his face betrayed his anger.

Harry and Ron nodded.

"With … with her," Draco sneered and pointed distastefully at Hermione.

The boys nodded again.

"And now she's sitting with you at breakfast."

They nodded a third time.

"But she's," Draco's voice finally broke, "- she's a -"

"Honey," Harry interrupted, "Whatever you're about to say, you'd better remember that you're saying it about my mum as well."

Draco reddened and glared at Ron and Harry who glared back, daring him to speak his mind. A ravenous growl interrupted the battle of wills as all eyes turned to Neville, who had his hands on his stomach.

"Breakfast." He whimpered nervously.

The boys turned to their plates - Harry setting one next to the empty seat beside him and pulling Draco down to eat with them.

"First of all -" Draco started, eyes still gleaming but speaking evenly again, "there's no way a troll broke into the castle. They're supposed to be dumb as posts. Someone must've let it in - maybe it was a Hallowe'en prank."

"A prank?" Harry squealed, "You don't think the twins did it? Do you?"

"Nah, they're jokers," Ron said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, "but they'd never get anyone killed. Maimed maybe -"

"Jeez Weasley, spell it don't spill it." Draco snapped, flicking a piece of egg off his robe sleeve in disdain. He continued muttering under his breath - Harry was sure he heard something about uncouth Weasley's and muggle loving fools. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Ron.

Ron blushed and swallowed before continuing, "Still, trolls are too dangerous even for those two."

"But who else would do such a thing?" Hermione asked.

"Who asked you?!" Draco exploded again.

"Actually, I'm asking you." Hermione countered nervously.

"Oh shut up."

Despite the ongoing tension between Draco and Hermione, Harry found that the addition of Hermione to their group was quite nice - and beneficial. To keep the peace between Crabbe and Goyle (who were still smiling and waving diligently to Harry), and to ensure that neither they nor Neville blew themselves up, Draco and Ron had agreed to always partner with either of the brute brothers during their potions lessons, leaving Harry to work with Neville. While this kept the group boil free it did result in Harry and Neville losing a mass amount of points each class. With Hermione now around to partner with Neville, Harry was able to work with a stray Slytherin. Professor Snape seemed to take far fewer house points from Harry when it risked the Slytherins own total.

Once Quidditch season - and Oliver Wood's rather insane training schedule - kicked in, Hermione was instrumental in keeping Harry focused on his studies.

The day before his first Quidditch match, Harry paced back and forth in the common room.

"Harry calm down."

"You're driving us nutters!"

"I can't help it!" Harry squealed. "I've never played on a team before!"

"You'll do fine -" Hermione started again.

"What if I don't catch the Snitch?" Harry wailed. "What if I fall off my broom? What if I'm playing and then I realise I haven't put my knickers on?"

"Harry," Ron snorted, "I won't let you leave the dorm without knickers tomorrow, I promise."

"And what if I catch the Snitch and we trounce Slytherin and Draco hates me?"

"Then maybe Crabbe and Goyle will hate you too and they'll stop waving at you all the time." Hermione said, perking Ron up, at least.

"That could be good, don't you think, Harry? It's getting kind of weird."

"There are rabid butterflies in my tummy!" Harry wailed again, ignoring them both. "I'm going for a walk."

"Don't forget," Hermione called after him as he made his way to the portrait hole, "We're meeting that spoiled evil brat in the library later." Harry nodded absently as he climbed through.

The walk served him well. After wandering aimlessly for a while, Harry found that the bounce had returned to his step. He'd be fine the next day - once he was off the ground with the wind in his hair and Mr Nimble between his legs, he'd be dandy. More than dandy, he'd be absolutely fabulous. He'd catch the Snitch and be swept up in a Oliver Wood Weasley twin sandwich - and absolutely fabulous wouldn't even begin to cover it. Oliver would see that Seekers were much better than Quidditch balls and -

"Damned hound!" a shout from the left jolted Harry out of his fantasy.

Harry gasped at the statement and moved toward the source of the sound. He was outside of the staff room. He bit his lip and held his breath and slowly pushed the door just slightly ajar.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Had the hound not been mentioned, Harry would have been extremely miffed at having once been called a 'dandy' by the very man now hitching his robes up above his knees. But Harry was soon assured that he hadn't espied a naughty moment, one of Snape's legs was bloody and mangled. Filch handed him a roll of bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape snapped, "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry knew he was already pressing his luck and eased the door back into place. Quidditch woes now completely forgotten, Harry bolted from the staff room to meet his friends in the library.

"He what?" Draco exclaimed.

"I bet it happened on Hallowe'en!" Ron burst in, "I saw him pass by when I was waiting outside the loo - I thought it was strange that he wasn't at the feast -"

"You saw him? Why didn't you say something earlier?!" Harry squealed.

"I forgot - and it didn't seem important until now. That would have been about the time the Great Hall was being evacuated - no other professors passed by."

"They were all going to the dungeon to look for the troll." Draco added, being the only one of the four that had attended the feast.

"What could be under that trapdoor that's worth being attacked by that horrible beast?" Hermione murmured.

"You told her about the trapdoor?!" Draco exclaimed.

"I was there you know," Hermione spat, "I saw for myself what that dog was standing on."

While Draco seethed, Ron and Harry got Hermione up to speed on the Gringott's attack and Hagrid's parcel.

"Oh my gosh!" Hermione eyes widened to saucers, "If that's really what's under the trapdoor - and it surely is - Snape may have been after it for ages, it could have been him that attacked you in Gringott's!"

Even Draco's mouth dropped.

"That would explain why he seems to hate you more than the rest of the Gryffindors, Harry." Ron concluded.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The excitement of the upcoming Quidditch match filled the Great Hall with an electric buzz.

Harry squirmed and wiggled with nerves.

"Harry, you're not eating." Hermione wheedled.

"I need chocolate!" he squealed, "Who eats sausages for breakfast anyway?!" He finally piled his plate with his usual scones - adding extra dollops of cream - and on Neville's suggestion, marshmallows. Seamus pulled a couple of chocolate frogs out of his pocket and added them to the mix.

"Breakfast of champions," a voice sneered behind him. Harry grinned up at Draco and the brutes.

"Good luck today Harry!" Crabbe and Goyle smiled broadly. Draco sent the two ahead to claim seats on the pitch.

"We'll be in the Slytherin stands but I'll find you after the game."

Ron told him they were meeting Hagrid for tea after the match, through a mouthful of sausage and beans, managing to keep all bits in his mouth. Draco agreed to meet them at the hut and left for the pitch.

"Breakfast of champions?" Hermione smirked, "How very muggle of him."

"I don't think he knows." Harry grinned.

By eleven o'clock the stands were filled with what seemed to be the entire Hogwarts population. Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus and Dean up in the top row, and were soon met by Hagrid.

"I usually watch from me hut," he said as he settled in, "But I had to see Harry's first game up close, didn' I?"

As a surprise for Harry, the students had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Ride it Harry! and Dean, who was good at art, had painted a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the lion would bat its long exaggerated eyelashes and tap its scarlet painted claws.

Soon the teams had emerged from the changing rooms and took to the air. Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins' friend, was doing the commentary for the match, being closely watched and heavily chastised by Professor McGonagall for his girl watching and colourful language.

The game wore on and the teams were exchanging goals. Just as Lee was commenting about the female chasers fine forms, Harry caught his first sight of the Snitch.

He grinned and squeezed Mr Nimble beneath him, then veered down sharply in a dive for the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it too. Neck and neck they hurtled towards the Snitch - the Chasers pausing mid air to watch them.

Harry was faster than Higgs, his broom more an extension of his body than a piece of equipment. He could see the little round ball darting ahead of him, golden wings fluttering - he flattened himself against his broom for an extra burst of speed and reached out his hand to grab the prize -

WHAM! A roar of outrage echoed from the Gryffindor stands - Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain had slammed into Harry, spinning his broom off course and nearly knocking Harry off in the process. Harry had just regained his balance when his broom gave a violent lurch. It continued to see-saw like a bucking bronco. Mr Nimble had never done this before.

"Harry seems to be doing a victory dance - I think he's caught the Snitch!" Lee called.

The crowd held its breath and waited for Harry to stop his broomstick waltz and produce the Snitch, both teams came to a halt, unsure whether the game was over or not.

Harry reeled back and forth, holding onto his broom for dear life. He tried to control the broom to no avail and briefly considered that this was simply a part of the game he hadn't heard about. A magically induced way to notify the referee that the Snitch had been caught. But Madam Hooch didn't seem to have called the game to an end. And that didn't explain the terrible ache erupting in his head. The broom pitched forward again.

"Calm down there Harry!" Lee called, "Enough is enough."

"Harry Potter," Professor McGonagall's voice rang out now, "Stop that, this instant!"

Harry knew now that something was surely very wrong. He didn't dare take a hand off of his broom and just spat the still fluttering Snitch out of his mouth where it had been engulfed when Flint sent his broom astray.

"Help!" Harry wailed. Madam Hooch finally called the game and Lee announced the Gryffindor victory. Harry's broom was carrying him higher and higher, jerking and twitching as it went.

A few screams were heard scattered throughout the stands, Harry's broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on.

"Do you think he lost control of the dance?" Neville asked tearfully.

"That was no dance Neville," Seamus whispered. "Maybe something happened to Harry's broom when he got hit?

"Can't have," Hagrid answered, his voice shaking. "Can't nothin' interfere with a broomstick except powerful dark magic - no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars and began peering frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Ron moaned, his face completely grey.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped. "Snape's jinxing the broom - look!"

Ron grabbed the binoculars as Hermione fled from their seats. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering non-stop under his breath.

The whole crowd was now on their feet, watching terrified, as the Gryffindor team, and even some of the Slytherin team circled beneath Harry, in hopes that someone would catch him if he fell. Attempts to pull Harry safely onto a team-mates broom only sent Mr Nimble higher in the air.

Harry grappled with the mutinous broom frantically, the pain in his head would not subside and threatened to knock him to the ground if the broom could not. Then suddenly - it was gone. The broom steadied and Harry sped to the ground as fast as he dared, followed closely by his fellow Quidditch players. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief and began to pour out of the stands, many of them swelling onto the pitch to find out what had happened.

"Get Harry out of there and bring him to me hut." Hagrid left shakily.

Harry held his hands to his head, the throbbing was gone but now that he could think clearly it all seemed terribly familiar.

"Harry!" Ron shouted pulling Harry away from the Slytherins now disputing the catch and the celebrating Gryffindors who knew that the catch was legal (if unorthodox). "Are you okay?" Harry and Ron met Hermione and began making their way to Hagrid's hut. "It was Snape! We saw him muttering something and staring straight at you – he was cursing the broom!" To Ron's puzzlement, Harry shook his head in disagreement.

"I think he must have seen you last night and he's trying to keep you from telling anyone."

"He didn't see me, I'm sure of it."

"Harry, I didn't want to believe it either, I mean, really, a professor! But we saw him – and then as soon as I … um, well – set him on fire, your broomstick stopped trying to throw you."

Harry jaw dropped to the ground at Hermione's pronouncement. "Well I don't know how your setting fire to Snape stopped the curse but it wasn't him who gave Mr Nimble a shake." He paused and hushed his voice dramatically. "It was Quirrell."

"Harry, this is serious!" Hermione scolded.

Harry glared at her and pouted his lip. "I am serious!"

"Harry," Ron started gently, "the man had to sit on the toilet because an unconscious troll was in the room with him – the three of us managed to stay standing but he had to sit on the can."

"Professor Quirrell just doesn't have it in him to hurt anyone," Hermione continued, "he can barely make it through his own class without fainting."

"Well being a 'fraidy cat is the perfect cover for a crazed maniac if you ask me." Harry narrowed his eyes. "Look, if I hadn't felt what I did, I'd be the first one looking in Snape's direction - especially after what I saw last night - but it had to be Quirrell! There was a pain in my head when Mr Nimble started to wiggle that was just like the ache I get in Quirrell's class!"

"Harry, we saw Professor Snape, he was jinxing the broom, I'm sure of it." Hermione tried to reason with him. "You get those headaches because of the smell."

"That's what I thought too - but you don't get them, and Ron doesn't get them. Goodness, Hermione, Neville doesn't even get them and he's more delicate than I am! It's Quirrell. I think … I think my head hurts in his class because he's out to get me - and it hurt a zillion times worse today because -"

"Because he was trying to knock you off your broom." Ron ventured contemplatively.

"But why?" Hermione asked, "why would he try to kill you? Because that's what would have happened if you fell off the broom today, Harry. You would have died."

The three shared a look, fully comprehending just how close Harry came to death that afternoon. They startled as a hand grabbed Harry's shoulder from behind, spinning him around in a fury.

"What the hell do you think you were doing up there?!" Draco bellowed. "Look at me!" he pulled the sleeves of his robes up to reveal red and purple blotches littering his forearms. "And the rest of me is even worse!"

"Crabbe and Goyle?" Ron asked, trying - and failing - to hide his amusement.

"Are you trying to get me killed? Because that's what'll happen if you keep up with this death wish of yours! Huge dogs - trolls - now this! Bloody Gryffindors!"

"Get a hold of yourself - what kind of a Malfoy are you, anyway?" Ron teased as Draco regained his composure in a flash. "Someone was jinxing Harry's broom."

"What?" Draco's eyes widened against his will.

"We saw Professor Snape -" Hermione added, gulping as Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "He had his eyes locked on Harry - he wasn't even blinking - and he was muttering something the entire time."

Draco glared harder at her but muttered, "Yeah, that's a jinx alright."

"You would know." Draco widened his glare to include Ron as well.

"We have to tell Professor Dumbledore." Hermione said.

"What would you do that for?" Draco fumed.

"Well he's trying to steal whatever that three headed dog is guarding for one thing, and he just tried to kill Harry -"

"Kill Harry? Professor Snape is the most powerful wizard at this school -" Ron and Hermione narrowed their eyes at Draco's slight against the Headmaster, "- if he wanted Harry to fall off his broom, Harry wouldn't have had a chance."

"See?" Harry stuck his tongue out at Ron and Hermione. "It had to have been Quirrell - he's not a good enough wizard to knock Mr Nimble out from under me now is he?" Ron and Hermione had to agree.

Harry went on to explain his theory about Quirrell and the pain in his head.

"Coming from your scar, you said?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded and rubbed his forehead with a pout.

"Maybe you're onto something. You got that scar after the Dark Lord tried to kill you - maybe now it hurts whenever someone wants you dead."

"I don't know, Malfoy." Ron found a fatal flaw in his reasoning. "I think if that was true, Harry's scar would have hurt a long time before now." He raised his eyebrows at Harry who nodded in understanding.

"The remaining Death Eaters, you mean? I guess some of them may have wanted Harry dead but maybe it only works if someone's actually trying to kill him."

Ron and Harry nodded to each other again. Even if the Dursleys had actually wanted Harry dead, they had never really done anything about it.

"I don't know." Draco continued. "If Professor Snape wanted to kill Harry, I think he would have found a way to do it already - and he wouldn't have muggled it up. Quirrell could muggle it but why would he want to kill Harry?"

"We know they were both up to something though - because we saw Snape and Harry felt Quirrell - " Hermione broke off and threw her arms around Harry, "Oh Harry! If you're not going to tell a Professor, then you'll at least be extra careful, won't you?" she pleaded, patting Harry's shoulder, while Ron and Draco shared a determined look and nodded to each other. Harry was in danger and wasn't to be left alone for a second.

They had reached Hagrid's hut and were bustled in quickly. After a quick introduction to Draco, Hagrid sat them all down to cups of hot tea and - with muffled snorts from Ron and Draco - cupcakes.

"Now, little dainty, just what happened up there?" Hagrid said, his voice still slightly shaky.

The group filled Hagrid in on what had happened - and their ideas about who was responsible.

"Rubbish!" Hagrid said in response but his tone betrayed a hint of worry. "I don' know why yer broom acted like that, little dainty, but Quirrell and Snape are both Hogwarts professors and would never try to kill a student!"

"Would a Hogwarts professor try to get past that three headed dog? Because Snape gave it a shot on Hallowe'en and has the bite on his leg to prove it."

Hagrid nearly choked on his tea, "How do you know about Fluffy?" he sputtered.

"Fluffy?!" the group exclaimed in unison.

"Yeah - he's mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met at the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard - " the group held their breath in anticipation, "- somethin' he needs guardin'."

They slumped in their seats.

"Now, listen to me, all of yeh - yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. Yeh forget that dog, an' yeh forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel -" Hagrid clamped his jaw together to keep from saying any more, then hastened them out of the hut, laden with cupcakes.

"Guys, I just thought of something." Draco stopped the group once they were out of sight of Hagrid's hut. "Quirrell is the one that ran into the Great Hall on Hallowe'en to tell everyone about the troll which he said was in the dungeons - so he found it. Then Professor Snape winds up with a three headed dog bite. Then these two just happen to be either seen or felt trying to hurt Harry."

Hermione gasped, "They're working together!" She hit her hand to her forehead. "Quirrell is the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - surely he should know how to handle a troll - so why did he run away from it instead of trapping it or knocking it out like we did?"

"All the students were sent to the dorms and the professors went to the dungeons to find the troll -" Draco continued.

"Leaving the third floor corridor completely empty." Hermione finished. Draco and Hermione shared a nod before grimacing and glaring at each other.

"I still don't understand how Harry figures into all of this?" Ron questioned. The group shrugged. "You don't think it's a sort of pact do you? You know, Quirrell kills Harry for Snape and Snape gets the thing under the trapdoor for Quirrell."

"Or maybe whichever one of them that was at Gringott's that day thinks Harry can identify him!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Enough already!" Harry whined. "Can we talk about something besides the conspiracy against me?"

The group continued quietly for a few moments.

"Nice catch on the pitch today," Draco sneered, breaking the silence. "You should know that most Seekers prefer to catch the Snitch with their hands."

"You know," Harry giggled, "the Snitch tastes a lot like a Ken doll."

"What? Why did you put a Ken doll in your mouth?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Um …" Harry began to blush redder than even Ron had ever been, "No reason." Draco and Ron snorted while Hermione reddened worse than Harry.


	11. The Mirror of Erised

****

Chapter 12 – The Mirror of Erised

Christmas was fast approaching and Harry had just signed up to stay at Hogwarts over the break. Mr and Mrs Weasley were taking their daughter Ginny to Romania to spend the holiday with their second eldest son Charlie, so, much to Harry's delight, Ron, Percy, and the twins would all be accompanying him over the break.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked as he flopped down on Harry's bed.

"The same thing you should be doing," Harry grinned coyly and tossed Ron a handful of catalogues. "Getting ready for Christmas!" he cheered, "if we're going to be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays we won't get a chance to do any proper shopping."

"Owl order?" Ron asked with a concerned face. "We can't afford that -"

"Of course we can, silly." Harry interrupted gleefully. "It's the delivery charges that are expensive - but we've got Twinkle, don't we? She'll deliver the items to us instead so the fee will be waived. It cuts the prices by half!"

"We can do that?"

"Um-hmm, it's in very _very VERY_ fine print at the bottom there. I noticed that all the catalogues had a bit of a smudge at the bottom of the price-list page so Hermione did a revealing charm - and there it was!"

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed before frowning again, "But won't you need your coins for the summer? You'll need money to get back to Gringott's."

"Oh silly, don't worry about me," Harry grinned again, "It's wizard money, right? And that won't help me one bit once we get to King's Cross station - so I may as well spend it on my friends."

Ron and Harry made their gift arrangements with great care, deciding who would get what for whom, and how best to spend their limited funds. Sending Twinkle out on secret owl order missions for each others gifts seemed near impossible, so to avoid that bit of silliness, and to have a bit more money available for everyone else's presents, they agreed to exchange hand-made gifts with each other instead.

The group of Gryffindors and Slytherins made their way to the front hall, where the students who were going home for the holidays would take carriages to Hogsmeade station to catch the Hogwarts Express.

"Remember," Hermione whispered, pulling Ron, Draco, and Harry slightly away from the others as they made their way to the front doors. "Professors Snape and Quirrell will have a harder time getting to Harry if other people are around so you two should try to stick with Ron's older brothers whenever you can."

"Okay!" Harry cried immediately, while Ron frowned.

"They're older and they know more magic, Weasley." Draco drawled before Ron could argue. "Just in case they try anything." 

Ron nodded, grudgingly. "And you're going to ask your dad if he knows anything about Nicolas Flamel as soon as you get home, right?" he prodded.

"Right."

They rejoined the others and said their goodbyes. Harry gave Hermione and Neville a hug, winked at Draco and waved at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh I'm so jealous of your two!" Hermione grumbled on their way out, "You'll have the library completely to yourselves during the break!" Even Crabbe and Goyle rolled their eyes.

Once the holidays began, Ron and Harry were having too much fun to worry much about what horrific doom might be awaiting Harry or to mind too terribly that Draco had yet to owl with his dad's response. They spent their time outdoors with the twins playing in the snow. 

Despite his delicate throwing style and the need to squeal each time he launched a snowball into the air - thus warning his targets of the incoming projectiles - Harry was surprisingly good at catching the twins as they tried to duck or jump out of the way.

"How do you do that?" Ron finally burst out as yet another snowball met its mark.

"It's this thing they do in baseball, that's a Muggle sport in America. It's called a curve ball."

Ron looked incredulous, "And how did _you_ learn to do it?"

Harry blushed, "It was kind of an accident," he giggled. "There was an article called 'Cool Girls Know All About Curve Balls' in one of my teen magazines, and … I-thought-it-meant-something-else." Harry hurried to show Ron where to place his fingers on the snowball to make it spin, waylaying his chance to discern just what he originally thought the article was about.

Ron had begun to teach Harry wizards chess - which was played just like Muggle chess but with live pieces that battled it out on the game board. Harry had been using Seamus Finnegan's set, whose players didn't like him at all and were extremely sore about losing. 

"But it bit me!" Harry wailed.

"Because you were sending it to its death!" Ron exclaimed, "You could be really good at this, Harry, you just need to pay attention." 

"How am I supposed to pay attention when they keep yelling at me?"

After one too many of these biting incidents, Harry refused to continue to play, leaving Ron to contend with Percy as an opponent. Harry kept them company in the common-room, reading.

On Christmas Eve, Harry left Ron with his brothers and spent the day with Hagrid. He literally fell asleep that night with visions of sugarplums dancing in his head, after Hagrid's detailed descriptions of the upcoming Hogwarts Christmas feast. He woke up the next morning and hurried to shower and dress - donning his long planned Christmas ensemble. He kissed Scabbers on the head and tied a bright green bow around its neck - which was easy to do as the rat slept through the entire procedure.

"Happy Christmas," said Ron sleepily, finally easing out of bed. 

"Happy Christmas to you too, Ron!" Harry twirled around the room - a Dursley free Christmas! He couldn't have asked for anything more delightful. "My goodness, those aren't for me, are they?" He pointed to the small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Of course they are, Cupcake!" Ron exclaimed, turning to his own pile.

Harry began with a plain envelope on the top of the pile. He gasped, "It's from the Dursleys!"

Ron dropped the gift in his hands and rushed over to see the letter. It was penned by the Yellow Tuna and read:

__

We received your message and agree to do whatever we must to keep you away from our home. If EVER you come back here, you will NOT be returning to that school of yours.

"That's their idea of a Christmas gift?" Ron fumed.

"Ron, this is the best gift ever!" Harry squealed. "They're not going to do anything so long as I never go back."

"But what's going to happen over the summer? You'll stay with me for as you can but my parents will wonder if you spend the whole summer with us - especially after staying at school for Christmas for no good reason."

"I'll think of something." Harry grinned. For him, the Dursleys letter was just another step in the right direction. He never wanted to go back there, now it seemed that staying away was going to be that much easier.

"I guess you don't have to worry about anyone finding out now - and forcing you back to their house -"

"Or sending me to an orphanage or something horrid like that."

"Still … " Ron continued to look glum.

"Heavens to Betsy, Ron, this is a _good_ thing! If you don't get that sad puppy dog look off your face this instant, I'll be forced to find a way to cheer you up … and it may involve mistletoe!"

Ron's eyes widened in alarm before he snorted and returned to the pile of gifts still waiting to be opened. 

Harry pouted his lip, hiding a grin, and picked up a small parcel wrapped in thick brown paper. It had a large, bright red bow around it and the words _To Harry, From Hagrid_ scrawled across the top. Inside was a wooden flute, simple in design but carefully sanded to be smooth as silk to the touch. It sounded a bit like an owl.

"Oh it's wonderful!" Harry cooed, "I bet he's made this himself."

"Open this one," Ron grinned proudly and handed him a large, rather lumpy parcel.

Harry placed his new flute gently on his bed and began opening the package in his lap. 

"It's from my mum." Ron's grin widened when Harry's face lit up. Inside the package Harry found a number of smaller gift wrapped bundles. 

"A scarf!" Harry squealed. "And mittens, oh Ron!" 

Ron reddened slightly, "Can't make Snape's job easier by having you die of pneumonia, right?"

Harry giggled and unwrapped a block of home-made fudge, then an emerald green jumper. He hugged the knitted items to his chest.

"Every year she makes all the kids a jumper - so I guess you're one of us now." The boys grinned at each other again before Ron tore open his own Weasley jumper. "Maroon again," he groaned, "Every year, it's the same thing!"

Harry scrunched up his face, "You shouldn't wear maroon with your hair - we'll have to trade."

He opened boxes of Chocolate Frogs from both Crabbe and Goyle - 

"They really do share one brain, don't they?" Ron muttered.

- and Draco sent them both beautiful quill and ink sets, lilac for Harry and navy blue for Ron. Hermione and Neville went in together and gave Harry a Muggle beading set for jewellery making and fashion embellishment.

Harry and Ron had agreed not to open their Christmas cards or their gifts for each other until after dinner - to stretch out the Christmas excitement. But there was still another gift awaiting Harry at the foot of his bed. 

"I wonder who this is from?" Harry murmured.

"Well open it!"

Harry unwrapped the package and found his lap covered in silvery-grey material. He held up the shining, liquid like fabric for Ron's appraisal.

"That's - that's - it can't be," Ron stammered, completely awed. "Put it on, Harry," he added in hushed tones.

Harry wrapped the material around him, adjusting it once he saw it was a cloak.

"I can't believe it!" Ron exclaimed, "Look down!"

"Eeek!" Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air - though Ron's only indication of this was Harry's bobbing head. Indeed, his body had seemingly vanished beneath the cloak around him.

"It's an invisibility cloak." Ron explained rather needlessly. Harry took off the cloak, dizzy with ideas clamouring to his mind on just what one could do whist invisible and confusion as to who might have sent it to him. A note fell to the ground as he folded the material. 

"'Your father left this in my possession before he died,'" Harry read the unsigned note aloud before handing it to Ron. "Humph! You'd think if that Yoo Hoo mongrel was after you and your family, you'd want something like an invisibility cloak on hand."

"I'm sure your dad knew what he was doing, Harry." Ron murmured, fingering the silk and reading the note. "Maybe he knew he was a target and was making sure the Death Eaters couldn't get their hands on an invisibility cloak - they're really valuable, you know, and _really_ rare."

Harry pouted, "I wonder who it's from?"

"You don't have any idea?" 

"No," Harry shook his head, "but the writing is familiar somehow." 

"Well whoever it was, your dad must've really trusted them." Ron said with awe.

"'Use it well' it said," Harry began to giggle uncontrollably, "Do you have any idea what we can do with this?"

Both Ron's and Harry's eyes glazed over with delight.

After an absolutely delectable Christmas breakfast, Ron and Harry broke away from Ron's brothers and hurried back to their dorm. It was time for the cloaks first run.

"Lets go spying." Harry suggested.

"What?" 

"We can go to the staff room and listen in - or follow Filch around and see what he gets up to."

"Filch doesn't get up to anything, Harry." Ron's eye's lit up. "We can find out what Snape is up to though!"

"And then we can short-sheet his bed!"

The boys made their way to the dungeons, shuffling along as quick as they could until they came to Snape's office. 

"Locked." Ron groaned.

"I have a feeling an unlocking spell wouldn't be a good idea."

"Probably booby-trapped," Ron agreed. They heard footsteps inside and soon Snape himself made his way into the hallway, spelling the door shut behind him. The boys wide-eyed each other under the cloak, amazed at their near miss. They followed the hook-nosed man's billowing robes up two flights of stairs and through a corridor until he stopped to speak with little Professor Flitwick. Harry reached into his shoulder bag for his wand.

"What are you doing?" Ron whispered urgently.

Harry simply giggled. He peeked the wand through the cloak's hood and pointed at a hanging mistletoe in the archway near him. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he whispered. The cluster of mistletoe raised off the frame and following Harry's wand, hovered about a foot over Snape's head.

"He's trying to kill you, Harry - you should have lit him on fire like Hermione did."

Professor Flitwick giggled at Snape's new accoutrement and kissed the hand of a very shocked man before continuing on his way.

"Eww." Ron and Harry whispered together. They continued to follow Snape - who grew increasingly more irate as passing students and professors either giggled madly or - in the case of the most courageous professors - kissed him as the mistletoe decreed. They both gasped in horror as Filch appeared around the corner.

"You've been drinking, Severus?" Filch growled.

"Of course not!" Snape sneered, making no attempt to hide his fury.

"Then get that idiotic thing off of your head." Though partners in their near fascist monitoring of student rule breaking, Filch seemed to enjoy having this one up on Snape.

Harry and Ron however, were terrified. They turned and fled before Snape could find the mistletoe, which was a good thing since neither would have been able to refrain from laughing out loud at the sight of the mistletoe bunch landing smack down on his upturned face.

The boys wandered back to the third floor corridor and peeked in to ensure that Fluffy was in fact still guarding the trapdoor. 

"Aaaaaah!" they screamed as one of Fluffy's heads greeted them an inch from the door. Having no visible target, the dog merely barked as the door was slammed shut. The boys ran from the corridor enjoying the thrill of being thoroughly terrified. They twisted and turned through the halls until they spotted Mrs Norris slipping through a doorway.

"I think she's just wandering - I don't hear Filch." Ron panted. "But just in case, we'd better keep quiet." They followed the scrawny cat through the doorway - Harry had a red Christmas bow to add to her collar. 

They looked around and found they were in what seemed to be a long disused classroom. 

"I wonder what this room was for," Harry whispered. 

"Who knows?" Ron shrugged. "Do you have any idea how to get back to Gryffindor tower?" 

"Mrs Norris can get us back," Harry whispered, bending to pet the cat. The cat hissed at his disembodied arm and scampered away, settling underneath an overturned chair and curling up for a nap. "Whoops! I guess I scared her. We'd better let her sleep if we want to stay on her good side."

"Temperamental feline," Ron muttered. "Hey, look at that." He was pointing to a rather large, very out of place object propped against a wall.

"A mirror!" Harry exclaimed, only to be shushed by Ron. He rushed toward the ornate, gold trimmed frame. "Maybe this was a magical grooming class!" he whispered excitedly.

"I don't think it belongs here, Harry." Ron rolled his eyes in the direction of Harry's voice.

"Oh my!" Harry giggled, "I had no idea my hair looked so good today!" His reflection in the mirror blew himself a kiss. 

"But how?" Ron gasped, "- the cloak!"

Harry gasped as well and yanked the cloak off over his head. He turned back to the mirror and received another kiss.

"It must be for security or something." Ron approached the mirror now as well, before gasping again.

"What's wrong?" 

"That's not me!" Ron sputtered. "It's me but it's not me!"

Harry leaned into the mirror again, "Eek!" he yelped. "Your hair is a fright!"

"You can't see anything else? Must be enchanted." Ron breathed in relief and the colour returned to his cheeks. "It's so weird though, it's me but … I'm at a strange sort of house … with you - I'm at your house."

"But I don't have a house." Harry frowned suddenly, "It doesn't have a number four over the door does it? Because that would be the Dursley's."

"I don't see any numbers," Ron reassured him. "Do you think it shows the future?" He moved away from the mirror and began looking in the gap between the wall and the mirror back.

"Ron, whatever are you doing?" Harry whined.

"Nothing," Ron whispered. "Just looking to see if there are directions or something - see how it's been charmed."

"There's writing on the top here."

Ron raced back to the front of the mirror, and craned his neck up. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," he strangled out, "Whatever that means."

Harry pulled a piece of parchment and a Muggle pen out of his shoulder bag and wrote the strange words down. He pouted his lip and after a moments indecision, rifled through the bag again until he had found a small compact mirror.

"What are you doing?" Ron spurted out, the exasperation dripping off of each word.

Harry humphed, "If this mirror is enchanted, then I have to make sure I really am having such a perfect hair day - I can't very well trust _you_ to tell me!" he turned away from Ron and the mirror and opened the compact with a snap. After a moments inspection he grinned in triumph, each hair was just where it should be.

"Happy?" Ron snorted.

"Very -" Harry gasped and nearly sent the compact reeling to the floor. He spun around to face the mirror then turned away again and peered intently into his compact.

"What?" Ron exclaimed.

"It's backwards. The letters are straight but the words are backwards!"

Ron looked into Harry's mirror and could see the tail end of the inscription. The letters were now backwards but when compared to the copy Harry had jotted down, the words became more distinct. The boys stood for a few minutes, comparing the mirror image with the letters on Harry's parchment until the full phrase became clear.

__

I show not your face but your hearts desire

"But what does that mean?"

"It means your hearts desire is what you see when you look in the mirror." Ron whispered.

"My heart's desire is to have perfect hair?" Harry giggled.

"I don't think so," Ron pointed to the compact still in Harry's hand. "You said your hair looked the same in your own mirror too. I guess you just don't have a hearts desire."

"Oh yes I do," Harry shimmied his shoulders, giggling.

"Harry!" Ron rolled his eyes, "Fred and George don't count."

Harry pouted before his eyes began to glisten and he threw himself upon his friend, enveloping him in a hug so tight that Ron's cheeks reddened.

"Oh Ron!" He exclaimed, "Your hearts desire is for me to have a proper home!"

Ron blushed deeper and began to gently prise Harry off his chest. "I - guess it kind of freaks me out that we don't know where you'll go when school ends." His blush deepened even further, to an impossible shade of crimson. "Blimey, Harry, don't cry."

Harry waved his hands at his face, "It's just," he cooed, "that's the sweetest thing ever!"

To Ron's great relief, Mrs Norris chose that moment to meow. He rushed over to scoop her up before she left them in the classroom. Harry pulled himself together and tended to the cat. After she had been properly petted and presented with the Christmas bow, she meowed again and jumped to the floor, padding out of the classroom.

The boys climbed back under the cloak and followed the cat to familiar ground, then made their way on their own to Gryffindor tower. 

Once they had returned to their dorm yet again, Harry took another look at the cloak's accompanying letter, trying to figure out just why the writing was so familiar.

Ron took the note and held it up to read again, Harry could see the script through the paper, backwards and spidery!

"It's from the Headmaster!" he exclaimed clapping his hands together, "that's the same writing I saw when I was at Gringott's with Hagrid."

"How can you tell?"

"I was trying to read the letter he gave to the goblin through the back of the paper - it looked just like that does." Harry held the letter back up to the light and pointed to the back of the parchment.

"But why would Dumbledore give a student an invisibility cloak?"

"Who knows why he does the things he does." Harry said wistfully.


	12. Nicolas Flamel

****

Chapter 13 – Nicolas Flamel

Soon Harry was sitting down to a feast more magnificent than anything he had ever imagined. It wasn't just a tantalising meal overflowing with delicious things to eat, it was a Christmas extravaganza. The Great Hall had been breathtakingly decorated throughout the holiday season, accented with holly and mistletoe and dominated by a dozen enormous Christmas trees, each adorned more beautifully than the next. Tonight an even grander touch of magic filled the room. Majestic silver snowflakes glittered in the air, never falling or melting. A thousand gold and silver pixies soared through the hall, spreading joy with their melodic voices. The crystalline light they cast lit up the Great Hall and sparkled off of the snowflakes, reflecting soft shimmering beams of light throughout the room.

Harry had happily parted with his previous outfit and sat down for dinner decked out in his new maroon jumper, Ron sat across from him very pleased to be in green.

"See, Percy?" George sing-songed at his older brother, who, earlier that day had been forced much against his will into his own orange gift from home. "Weasley jumpers are all the rage - Harry wouldn't wear one otherwise." He winked at Harry - who nearly swooned.

Harry indeed fell right out of his chair a moment later, when the Christmas cracker he had pulled with Fred, exploded with a bang, a cloud of dust, and the outpouring of several live white mice. The twins laughed and applauded, while Percy hoisted Harry back onto his seat.

"Goodness!" Harry giggled. "I wasn't expecting that!" Waiting for him on the table was his prize - a Rear-Admiral's hat. Harry burst into another round of giggles, his cheeks flushing bright red.

Full to bursting and piled with prizes from the spectacular crackers, the boys waited until after the evening tea to wrap up their unwrapping.

"You fixed my robes!" Ron cried after tearing open the colourfully wrapped package. His too short hand me down robes now sported a simpler version of the same tailoring Draco and Harry had done at Madam Malkins (which was really rather more attractive than the usual Hogwarts cut), as well as an addition of fabric at the hem, sewn by machine but with stylish black on black hand-ticking over the outer seam.

"I don't know the proper stitching spell but there's a machine in the muggle studies classroom."

"This is brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, holding one of the robes up to his chest and studying the extra fabric around his ankles. "It looks like the material is really supposed to be there! It looks … it looks - fancy!"

After Harry had opened the gift Ron had made him, he fanned his face again to keep his tears of joy in check. Ron had put together an enormous scrapbook of carefully cut and pasted tips, tricks, and helpful hints for Quidditch and flying in general, from what had to have been years worth of old Quidditch magazines.

They tore into their cards next, saving Draco's for last as it was addressed to both Harry and 'Weasley.' 

"Trading cards?" Ron exclaimed with annoyance, as two Chocolate Frog cards slipped to the floor, "and he doesn't say anything about Flamel!" he threw the Christmas card to the bed in disgust.

"Oh he did better than that, Ron," Harry gushed looking at the two cards in his hand. "Nicolas Flamel! Albus Dumbledore!" he waved the cards victoriously. "Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster - bla, bla, bla … his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel! That's why the name's familiar - I got the Headmaster's card on the train ride here." He turned to the other card, "Born in 1326, Nicolas Flamel is the only documented maker of the Sorcerers Stone. The celebrated alchemist is in possession of the only stone currently in existence. Other notable achievements include the development of the worlds most potent topical ointment for joint pain, and his aptitude for certain aspects of divination - Flamel is able to predict inclement weather with near 100% accuracy."

"The Sorcerers Stone." Ron said under his breath. "Alchemy is about turning metal into gold - I guess that's what the stone does."

"Well no wonder Snape and Quirrell want at it." Harry gushed, his eyes alit with awe, "I think if I were Hagrid, I'd have run off with it when I had the chance! - Or at least had a bit of a go with it before handing it over to the Headmaster."

"Me too." Ron agreed vehemently.

They fell asleep that night full of turkey, puddings, mystery, and visions of gold.

The boys met Draco and the brutes at the front doors when the students arrived back from the holiday.

"Where's Hermione?"

"How would I know?" Draco snapped at Ron, "Maybe she had the good sense not to come back where she doesn't belong." 

"You're such a poop," Harry pouted before brightening again as Neville and Hermione passed through the doors. The Gryffindors and Slytherins parted, agreeing to meet in the library once the returning parties dropped their things off in the dorms.

Neville and the brutes soon bored of the library. The instant they were alone at the table, the four closed their school books, turning the conversation immediately to Nicolas Flamel and the Sorcerer's Stone.

"It's all so very strange," Harry hushed. "Flamel and the Headmaster worked together - but Flamel must've died ages and ages ago - unless the Headmaster is even older than we thought."

"No, he's not _that_ old. Flamel is probably just a ghost," Ron stated dismissively. "Except -" his eyes lit up, "- the card keeps talking like he's still alive!"

"There are stranger things going on that that," Hermione furrowed her brow. "Don't you think it's odd that someone willing to break into Gringotts - to take something that changes metal to gold - didn't take anything else from the bank?"

Ron and Harry looked at her blankly, Draco glared.

"Honestly!" Hermione rolled her eyes, "If in the end all they wanted was money - why didn't they take any?"

"Quirrell and Snape aren't after the Sorcerer's Stone at all, then?" Draco glared, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I know, Fluffy's _really_ guarding the last bottle of Flamel's ointment for joint pain."

Hermione returned Draco's glare before leaving the table altogether in favour of the isles upon isles of books. Ron sent Draco a glare of his own and followed.

"Why do we have to hang around with her?" Draco growled.

"_We_ hang around with her because _we_ like her." Harry sniffed. The two sat in awkward silence until Ron and Hermione returned to the table, Hermione hunched over with the weight of an enormous tome. Harry scowled at Ron and hurried over to share the heavy burden.

Draco sneered at them all and left the library altogether.

"Moody little bugger," Ron grumbled.

"Oh leave him be," Harry cooed, "he's just had a two week dose of 'Father says' - he'll settle down soon enough."

"Ha!" Hermione exclaimed once she had found what she wanted in the Encyclopaedia Enchantica, "I knew it couldn't be about money! The Sorcerer's Stone can produce the elixir of life - Snape and Quirrell are after immortality."

"But Snape can already do that," Harry pouted at their puzzled looks. "On our first day of potions - he said he could teach us how to 'stopper death,' right before he called us dunderheads."

"You're right." Ron muttered.

"None of this makes any sense!" Hermione moaned. 

Draco spent the next few days openly scowling at Hermione and avoiding both Ron and Harry whenever they were with her - which was often. In an effort to maintain their loyalty to Draco - without losing Harry's friendship, the brute brothers waved much less enthusiastically at breakfast each morning.

Harry was growing ever more saddened by Draco's behaviour and sat with his chin in his hands and his face in a full pout.

"You said it yourself Harry," Ron mumbled through his bowl of cereal. "Draco will get over himself in a couple of days. I can't believe he hasn't already gone crazy with only those two idiots to keep him company." 

"Don't call them that!" Neville whined, slamming his fork down on the table. Every Gryffindor within earshot looked at him in astonishment. "They're nice and kind and unlike _some_ people, they would never say a mean word against their friends!" The stunned table watched in silence as the shy round faced boy left the table.

"Have you already managed to offend _every _first year student at Hogwarts?" Hermione questioned with a wicked grin. 

"Just the Gryffindors," Harry, with his own coy grin, answered on the very red-faced boy's behalf. "Though, in Ron's defence, he hasn't offended _me_ yet."

"He got me twice though," Lavender jumped in, "so it still counts as a full set."

"Alright, alright," Ron threw up his arms in defeat. "I have a big mouth - _I get it_."

Ron apologised during potions - he was really getting quite good at that - and Neville was quick to accept. He even went out of his way to be extra … civil to Crabbe, who he was working with that day.

They had fallen back into their school routine with a couple of small adjustments. Draco had stopped pointedly ignoring the boys when they were with Hermione, but actively spent as little time with her as possible, forcing Ron and Harry into the habit of dividing their time between the two. It didn't matter how the group was divided, neither combination was able to make heads or tales of the Snape-Quirrell-Sorcerer's Stone problem at hand.

"I've gone over our notes on the case a thousand times, Ron - it just doesn't add up!" Hermione was saying as Harry came in from yet another gruelling Quidditch practice.

"The case?" He cooed, "Well my, my, it's Nancy Drew meets the Hardy Boys!"

Hermione giggled, "As long as _I_ get to be Nancy."

Harry pouted and sniffed but soon his jest turned into a genuine frown.

"What's up, Cupcake?"

"Oliver told the team something today - and I just don't know what to make of it." Harry took a deep breath and spurted out his news, "Snape is refereeing our match against Hufflepuff."

Ron cursed rather colourfully while Hermione's eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"But why would he do that?"

"So he can knock Harry right out of the air - that's why!" Ron exclaimed.

"With the entire school as a witness?" Hermione puzzled. "I don't think so. And if he's going to make a show of refereeing the game, he'll be flying around the whole time - which is not the ideal way to cast a jinx or a curse."

"Diversion," Ron muttered now that he had a chance to think. "Snape is ref'ing a _Gryffindor_ match - the students that hate him the most. Every kid in the castle will be on the pitch hoping Fred and George knock _him_ out of the air - and I bet there aren't a lot of professors who'd want to miss that either. It's Hallowe'en all over again."

"I'll be flying - so you two will have to be on Troll Patrol!" Harry giggled. "If Quirrell is going to pay Fluffy a visit, you'll have to be there to stop him."

Hermione frowned, "We can't just follow him around - if he spots us, he'll know we're onto him, and the halls will be too crowded to use your invisibility cloak."

"Your right," Ron nodded, "We can use the cloak and just wait outside Fluffy's door in case he comes. Malfoy can keep an eye on him if he goes to the game instead."

The day of the Gryffindor Vs. Hufflepuff match arrived, and just as Ron predicted, the entire school - students and professors alike - had packed the stands, even Professor Dumbledore had come out to watch. Bets were being placed on whether Fred or George would dare send a Bludger his way - and if so, how many? And which twin would do it first?

Once the game had begun, Harry paid no mind to Snape and turned all his attention to finding the Snitch. Wood had changed his usual tactics for the Weasley Beaters and had instructed them to forget about the Hufflepuff chasers - Wood would handle anything they sent his way - and concentrate on simply occupying the Bludgers. It was a risky strategy that would have Fred and George playing their most brutal and exhausting game ever. But if Gryffindor won this match, they would move ahead of Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in years. Wood knew nothing of the Sorcerer's Stone and was concerned only that Snape was refereeing the match as a means to ensure Slytherins house dominance. He wanted the Bludgers out of the way so Harry could find the Snitch and end the game as quickly as possible. 

True to form, Snape was calling fouls right and left, awarding penalties to Hufflepuff whenever the Gryffindor Chasers intercepted the Quaffle, and again once Fred sent the crowd to its feet in a cheer by sending a Bludger straight at Snapes gut. Unwilling to let the Bludger be intercepted by the opposition, George was right behind Snape to bat the bludger back to his twin - via the space Snape was occupying, of course. Snape only just escaped both blows.

Harry scanned the Quidditch pitch as fast as he could without missing an inch - his eyes caught Snape's and locked in place with his best Draco styled glare. A mischievous grin came to Harry's lips and he coaxed Mr Nimble to reach its top speed yet - directly toward a now wide eyed Professor Snape. At the last possible second Snape yanked on his broomstick pulling himself up out of harms way as the scarlet blur whizzed by him. Harry spun the broom around to a stop, his right arm waving the captured Snitch like a damsel with a kerchief. Snape was furious but the game was over nonetheless.

Harry hoped he had caught it in time to deter Quirrell from heading to the third floor corridor, where Ron and Hermione sat in wait.

A fair number of the spectators had poured onto the pitch to celebrate the win. The Headmaster himself among them. "Well done," he said quietly to Harry.

Harry acknowledged the complement with a tilt of his chin as he raced to Hagrid to accept a bone crushing hug. 

"I reckon yeh owe Professor Snape a new set o' knickers after what yeh jus' pulled," Hagrid whispered with a chuckle.

Harry rushed through his shower, jumped into his robes only half dried, and sped out of the changing room to meet his friends - not pausing even to gel his hair. He slowed only to gently place Mr Nimble in the broom-shed. He raced to the castle at top speed - he wanted to hear _everything._

Harry reached the third floor corridor and after seeing that no one was there, called out, "Yoo hoo, Hermione! Ron! Are you here?" then gasped louder than he spoke as his friends suddenly appeared, sweeping out from under the cloak.

"The game is over?!" Ron exclaimed.

"We won!" Harry yelped, "Did anything happen?"

"Nothing," the two would be spies replied together. They made their way to the library with Harry recounting the brief Quidditch match. They spotted Draco immediately and beelined to his table.

The four stopped, suddenly struck by how odd it was to be sitting together. It seemed like ages since last Draco had been in Hermione's presence.

Draco had little to report. Quirrell attended the game and didn't do anything suspicious. They were at a dead end.

With no more clues to decipher, the group turned their attention to more pressing matters - like the house championship. The Slytherins now point blank refused to partner with Harry during potions class - every point counted, and if Harry was partnered with a Gryffindor - Slytherin would be back on top in no time. Ron played his game of potions chess masterfully and rearranged the seating arrangements: Hermione and Harry - the two best potions students - would work together, Neville partnered with Draco, and Ron with either Crabbe or Goyle. 

Snape was livid.


	13. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

**Chapter 14 – Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback**

As the days and weeks passed, Draco showed no sign of relenting on his stance towards Hermione, in fact, he became more and more persistent about keeping away from her.

"Goodness, Ron, you don't think he got into trouble, do you?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Ever since Draco came back from Christmas - he's been meaner and meaner to Hermione, and it got even worse after the Easter break." Harry sighed.

"I know -"

"Shush," Harry whispered, "here he comes." Ron and Harry turned to wave as Draco entered the library.

"_She's_ not coming, is she?" Draco sneered. The boys shook their heads. "Good. You two should be more careful about who you're seen with."

"If we cared about that," Ron snorted, "we wouldn't be sitting here with you, would we?"

"I'm serious." Draco frowned.

Ron turned to Harry and mouthed 'so was I.' 

Harry giggled then gasped, "There's Hagrid!" The group watched the large man emerge from a stack of books near the back of the library.

"I've never seen him in the library before." Draco mused. The others agreed and watched him look around furtively before leaving the room. Before they could say anything else, Ron had leapt to his feet and hurried to the area where Hagrid had been spotted. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms which he slammed down on the table.

"Dragons!" he whispered, "Hagrid was looking up stuff on dragons!" The boys paged through _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland _and _From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide._

"Dragon Keeper?" Harry squealed, only to be shushed by Ron and Draco. "Hagrid can't possibly have a dragon here could he?"  
  
"He has a three headed dog." Draco said dryly, "he could probably get his hands on a dragon too."

"But they're illegal!" Ron exclaimed.

"Goodness, Ron, I can't imagine Fluffy is permitted either." 

The boys returned their books and were soon bounding out of the castle, across the lawn and up the steps at Hagrid's hut. They knocked until their knuckles were sore.

"Oh poop." Harry sat down on the step in a huff. "He's not home."

Ron joined him on the stoop, "He's probably in the forest somewhere with the dragon." The three boys lifted their eyes to the heights of the trees in the Forbidden Forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of a dark wing or tail - nothing.

"What are yeh three doin' down there?"

Ron, Harry, and Draco jumped nearly a foot in the air before being hustled into Hagrid's hut.

"What brings yeh by?" Hagrid asked, setting the kettle to boil.

The boys shared a nervous glance before Ron nudged Harry to speak.

"We wanted to see the dragon!" Harry squealed before clapping both hands to his mouth in horror. "I mean - I meant -"

"There's no dragon here, little dainty," Hagrid winked.

"But we saw you in the library …" Draco trailed off.

"Jus' lookin' somethin' up, I was." Hagrid let the boys turn various shades of red before relenting. "Oh all righ'. I met a man down the pub las' nigh' - I had some cards an' he offered ter play me for a dragon egg. I was jus' looking up what kind he was carryin' is all."

"What kind is it?" Draco asked in awe.

"Norwegian Ridgeback," Hagrid opened one of his library books and pointed to a picture of a black winged beast. His eyes had glazed over and he had a contented dreamy grin on his face. "Ah, little Norbert …"

"Where is he, Hagrid?" Harry clapped his hands together in anticipation as Hagrid gazed at the book on the table.

Hagrid snapped back to reality, "Nah, I though'it best ta turn 'im down. Can't have a dragon running around me hut with you lot over all the time. Those curly locks of yers would be singed right off, wouldn't they?" 

The boys were disappointed but extremely relieved.

"Too bad though," Ron said, "I bet if Fluffy _and _a dragon were guarding the Sorcerer's Stone - no one would try to have at it."

Hagrid's face turned beet red, "How do you know about the Sorcerer's Stone?!" he exclaimed.

The boys shared a grin, "Oh we figured that out ages ago," Harry batted his eyelashes at the giant man. 

"But don't worry we're not going to tell anybody." Draco assured him.

"I guess you already know that's what we took out of Gringott's, little dainty."

Harry gasped, "Oh my goodness - I just realised - I had the elixir of life in my pants!"

Between Hagrid, Ron, and Draco, there was suddenly quite a lot of tea to mop up from the table.

"Um … " Ron wiped his nose on a napkin - having had hot tea pass through it just moments ago. "Tell us about the man with the dragon egg Hagrid."

"A mysterious chap 'e was, wore a great cloak an' wouldn' take down the hood - couldn' even see his face. He was a bit put out when I turned down the game - offered it to me outrigh' then - must've really been tryin' to get rid of it."

"Dragon eggs cost a fortune," Draco frowned, "Why would anyone just give one away?"

"Must've been on the run, I figure." Hagrid mused behind his huge moustache. "But he was protective of it nonetheless - wanted to make sure I could take care of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he wanted to make sure I had some experience with dangerous creatures. But after handling Fluffy, a dragon would be a piece of cake."

"You mentioned Fluffy to him?"

"Just in passing, but then I told him I couldn't take the egg and that was that."  
"But you said he was upset when you turned him down." Ron pressed.

"Yep, rushed out of the pub a few minutes later." Hagrid's eyes glazed over once again, "Norbert," he sighed.

"The man's name was Norbert?"

"The dragon, I named him Norbert." 

The boys shrugged their bewildered shoulders at each other and soon left Hagrid to his reverie.

"Wait until we tell Hermione!" Harry yelped once they had left the hut.

"This is important business, Harry, you can't trust it with her." 

Harry and Ron both glared.

Harry stood with Neville and rubbed his back to soothe the boy before their next potions class, they would be receiving their most recent test scores that day and Neville was a nervous mess. Hermione too was nervous about the result - insisting that she had added one and one fifth of a tablespoon of crushed beetles instead of the required one and one eighth.

"Relax Hermione," Ron grumbled, "you'll end up with a perfect test - just like always."

Draco stood behind them and with a sneer, whispered to Crabbe and Goyle, "She could score one hundred on every test we ever take and it still wouldn't make up for being a worthless muggle-born."

Harry's eyes flashed, years of straining from his cupboard to hear whether Uncle Dursley and the Yellow Tuna had fallen asleep had honed his ears well. Nobody would get away with talking about Hermione that way - not even Draco. 

Harry's arm snapped up from his side and swung around in a flash - 

SLAP! 

Draco stood gaping, his own hand covering the red handprint Harry had left on his cheek. He glanced to Crabbe and Goyle who would normally be pummelling anyone who dared raise a hand to him but whose loyalties toward both boys left them with no choice but to step back and protect Neville. 

Draco turned back to Harry, now glaring, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me?_ What's wrong with _you?_ How dare you say that about Hermione?!" Harry stamped his foot.

"She's lucky I bother to say _anything_ about her at all, she's not worth my time - or your time either!"

"She is so!" Harry squealed. "If Hermione was a pureblood witch, you'd adore her just as much as I do!"

"Well she's _not_ a pureblood witch, is she?" Draco scoffed.

"You - you - you horrid little Daddy's boy! That bigoted father of yours doesn't even have to be here to do all of your thinking for you."

"Don't you speak against my father!"

"Then don't speak against my friend!"

"Your friend .. So that's it, then?" Draco sneered. "You're picking that filthy little mudblood over me!"

Harry's eyes widened and he launched himself on Draco, knocking him backward and onto the floor. The two boys were fighting furiously, Harry had foregone slapping and was throwing his fisted little hands in a flurry. 

"Stop it!" Hermione cried.

Ron had been content to let the fight go on but was forced into action by Hermione looking near tears. He bent down and scooped Harry around the waist, pulling him to his feet and off of Draco. Draco scrambled to his feet and lunged at Harry only to find himself held back by Goyle. Crabbe did his part and acted as the bind for Harry, relieving Ron and Hermione who had been struggling under Harry's flailing limbs.

"What is going on, here?" a low voice growled from the door. All eyes turned to see Snape swoop into the now fearfully silent classroom. "Longbottom!" Snape sneered, "Explain this!"

"We - we were," Neville trembled.

"Full sentences, if you don't mind." Snape snapped.

"We were waiting for class to begin and Draco called Hermione the 'm' word and Harry slapped him and they started fighting and then Ron stopped the fight." Neville finished with a teary eyed squeak.

Snape surveyed all those Neville had mentioned, pausing just long enough to wave his wand at Draco's rumpled figure to stop his nose bleed. "20 points from you Miss Granger, for instigating a fight. 70 points from you Mr Potter for attacking a fellow student. And 20 points from you Mr Weasley for failing to take Mr Malfoy to the infirmary immediately after stopping this fight. Detention for all three of you … What are you waiting for? Escort Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey!" 

Ron grabbed Draco's arm roughly and dragged him into the hallway. 

"You evil git! I can't believe you said that to Harry," he seethed. "You're supposed to be his friend."

"I am his friend! Why else would I keep trying to help him?" Draco exclaimed shaking his robes free from Ron's grip.

"Help him?" Ron's eyes bulged, "how was calling Hermione a - _what you said_ - supposed to help him?!"

"In case you haven't noticed, Weasley," Draco sneered, "Harry isn't just some unknown wizard who can do whatever he wants to - he's The-Boy-Who-Lived - his every move is going to watched constantly! My father says that people are going to be expecting him to conduct himself like a proper wizard should - they'll put him up on a pedestal and be looking for any reason to knock him down. And being friends with a muggle-born just makes it easier for them to do."

"Harry doesn't care about any of that."

"He doesn't now but he will one day and it'll be too late then."

"No … that's not true. Blood doesn't matter."

"If you're going to be stupid at least have the guts to be honest," Draco fumed, "if everything else was equal, there isn't a wizarding family in Britain who wouldn't pick being pure-blooded to muggle-born, and you know it. You think Dumbledore or your father would trade their lineage for Hermione's without fighting tooth and nail? And would you?" Draco allowed himself a swollen smirk at Ron's hesitation, "I didn't think so."

"You're changing the subject!" Ron exclaimed. "The point is - "

"The point is, life will be a lot harder for Harry if he gets himself a bad reputation - and that's what will happen by being associated with muggle-borns. It just looks bad to people."

"Only people like your father!"  
"Well it's people like my father that run the wizarding world isn't it?"

"That's not true! Professor Dumbledore is -"

" - Dumbledore is supposedly the greatest wizard of our time, so why is he running a school instead of the country? And what about _your own father?_"

"You don't know anything about my father!"  
"Oh yes I do - the Weasley line is as old and pure as the Malfoy's - so why is your father sitting in the same stupid Ministry position he's had for almost ever? Because the people who run the show think his muggle loving attitude makes him a disgrace."

"He is not - you take that back!"  
"Don't you get it, Weasley? It doesn't even matter if he is or not - what matters is that the people who have all the power think it. Harry needs someone to show him that."

"Yeah, that's right, Malfoy. Having one of his best friends tell him that muggle-borns are completely worthless is exactly what Harry needs!" Ron bellowed, "Do you even remember that his mum was muggle-born - people love knowing that their friends think their parents are scum."

"-"  
"And if his mother is scum - then what about him? Harry shouldn't have to feel worthless because of his friends - he gets enough of that at home." Ron opened the door and shoved Draco into the infirmary.

"What did you say?" Draco gaped through his swollen lip.

"What?" Ron blanched and cursed under his breath. "Forget I said anything - just keep your fat mouth shut about your stupid pureblood rubbish."

Madam Pomfrey entered then and fretted over the pale bloody boy - tut tutting and murmuring charms now and again, each time relieving the swelling on various parts of Draco's face. 

Ron scrambled to think of a way to keep Harry's secret while giving Draco a feasible answer.

Draco finished the bruise reduction potion Madam Pomfrey had given him and was finally allowed to leave the infirmary.

"What's wrong with Harry?" he asked at they passed through the doors.

Ron took a deep breath and hoped Harry wouldn't hate him for his slip up. "In the muggle world there are a lot of people who think wizards who like other wizards aren't as good as everyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry says that sometimes people get really angry if they see gay people kiss or something in public - and sometimes they even get beat up because people think it's bad and going against muggle religions. Harry said that sometimes people even get killed."

"What?" Draco's pale face blanched. "But … but that's ridiculous!"

"Well they don't think so." Ron eyes flared with anger again, "You know Harry didn't ever have any friends before he came to Hogwarts - because of that."

"Harry?! That just shows you how stupid muggles are then, doesn't it? Everyone knows you can't help if you like witches or wizards."

"Well Hermione couldn't exactly help being born a witch, you know. But if you had your way, she wouldn't have any friends either. Just a bunch of purebloods making fun of her."

"That's different!"

"Not to Harry, it isn't. What you're doing to Hermione here is the same thing they do to Harry there."

"But _they're wrong_ - we're right."

"They think they're right too."

"You don't understand. My father says - "

"How do you know that your fathers right?"

"Because - he's always right."

"Says who?"

"Says … him. Look, it doesn't matter who's right or wrong - this is just the way things work, and it's still not good for Harry to be around her!"

"Even if it isn't, trying to tell Harry that doesn't help him. He's never going to turn his back on one of his friends."

"He's turning his back on me." Draco glared.

"You're not giving him much of a choice."

"I don't exactly have much of a choice myself, do I? I won't even be allowed to be friends with Harry anymore - Father won't allow the Malfoy name to be tarnished."

"Your father doesn't exactly like Weasleys either but he didn't get you in trouble over me."

"I had to tell him that it was the only way to be friends with Harry - that won't be good enough for Hermione."

"Then we'll think of something else to tell him."

"Don't bother," Draco groaned, "Harry probably hates me now anyway."

"Like Harry would pass up the chance to kiss and make up!" Ron chuckled.

Draco snorted, "I'd have thought you'd be glad to get rid of me, Weasley."

Ron reddened and shrugged. 

"Maybe … maybe I should get him something to apologise -"

"Right, 'cause that's going to work on Harry."

"What wrong with that? That's how people apologise to me."

It was Ron's turn to snort, " … Think of every single way that someone could get back into _your_ good graces if they screwed up - and then do something completely different." 

Draco stopped at a well polished suit of armour and used the reflection to straighten his still rumpled hair before returning to class.

"Whoa!" Ron exclaimed, "I just realised something!" his eyes grew wide and he doubled over with laughter.

"What?" Draco snapped.

"Cupcake just kicked your ass!"


	14. The Forbidden Forest

****

Chapter 15 – The Forbidden Forest

That afternoon, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglass that recorded the house points thought there had been a mistake. How could they have left for their first class of the day happily in first place only to find themselves in dead last by lunch? The story of the potions escapade soon spread. The Gryffindors were torn between congratulating Harry for knocking the stuffing out of a Slytherin, and pure irritation for his lack of common sense (smacking a Slytherin - in _Snape's_ class?!) causing them the grievous loss of house points. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were miffed, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Some, like Oliver Wood, took the point loss as a personal challenge, and strove almost maniacally to regain their position.

Harry was so busy with Oliver's now fully insane Quidditch training schedule and Hermione's almost completely insane end-of-year exam study schedule, that he had few opportunity's to mope over the break in his friendship with Draco. He would spend time now and again with Crabbe, and Goyle (with Neville acting as referee) - when Ron was off in the library with Draco.

Twice Draco's owl dropped notes on Harry's lap, and twice Harry ignored the letters.

"How is he supposed to apologise to you if you ignore him in potions - stay away from him after class - and throw his letters away without reading them first?"

"Why should he apologise to me?" Harry huffed.

"What else is he supposed to do?" Ron puzzled. 

"Absolutely nothing." 

It was just before the beginning of exams when they received a note during breakfast from Professor Snape, indicating that their detention would take place at eleven o'clock that night. 

"Draco will probably have detention with us too - he says McGonagall herself gave him one because of what he said." Ron explained.

At eleven o'clock the three Gryffindors made their way to the entrance hall where they were to meet Filch. Draco was already there waiting impatiently with the crabby old man.

They followed Filch outside where he lit a lamp and marched them across the lawn, all the while reminiscing about the long dead tortuous punishments he longed to see back in action. Harry was just able to see the lit windows of Hagrid's hut just ahead.

"Is that you Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started." Hagrid sent Filch on his way and gathered the group together near the very edge of the forest. 

"Right then," he said, "now listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight an' I don' want no one takin' risks." He pointed to something shiny and silvery on the ground - unicorn blood. "There's a unicorn in the forest's been hurt bad by summat. This is the second time in a week - I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have to put it out of its misery."

"We're going into the forest?" Draco voiced his alarm.

"Don't worry, there's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang."

"But what if what hurt the unicorn doesn't live in the forest?" Harry whimpered.

"Then yeh send up red sparks with yer wands. If any of yeh get into trouble, yer to do that and I'll find yeh. If yeh find the unicorn, send green sparks instead." The group practised sending the sparks into the air until Hagrid was satisfied they could do it in a flash if need be. "We'll have to split up. Little dainty," Hagrid said, "you and Hermione will come with me. Draco and Ron will take Fang."

The two groups ventured into the forest along opposite paths. The forest was dark and silent, as if too dense to allow sound to travel. Hagrid had Hermione and Harry grab onto the pockets near the bottom of his jacket, while he carried his large crossbow in his hands, a satchel of quivers were draped over his shoulder. Harry saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

"Whatever could be hurting the poor unicorns, Hagrid?" Harry whispered.

"I never knew one ter be hurt before, little dainty. So I can' say fer sure." Hagrid stopped suddenly then and shushed Harry and Hermione. With a quick move he had drawn an arrow from the satchel and fitted it into the crossbow. In the silence, they could hear what sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground, slithering over the dead leaves nearby. Hagrid squinted into the dark brush but after a few seconds the sound had faded. "Yep," he murmured, "there's summat here that shouldn' be." 

They continued walking silently until they reached a clearing. Hagrid raised his crossbow again as something stirred nearby. Into the clearing came - the impossible. To the waist stood a bearded red haired man, but below that was a horses gleaming chestnut body with a long reddish tail. Hermione's jaw dropped and Harry's wide eyes roamed shamelessly over the unclothed horse-man.

"Stop looking, Harry!" Hermione whispered harshly. Harry's cheeks reddened and he brought his gaze back up to eye level.

"Oh, it's you, Ronan," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?" He stepped forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. His voice was deep and melancholy. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," Hagrid patted the crossbow in his arms. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. Little Dainty, Hermione - this is Ronan, he's a centaur. Ronan, this is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger - they're students up at the school."

"Good evening," Ronan boomed, "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"  
"Oh yes!" Harry rushed to shake the centaur's hand and immediately began stroking the horse part of the centaurs back. "Did you go to Hogwart's too?" he asked.

Ronan looked shocked and seemed to almost grin, "Oh, no."

"I'm glad we've run into yeh, Ronan," Hagrid said, "'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt - you seen anythin'"

Ronan didn't answer immediately, instead he tossed his head back and stared unblinkingly upwards. "Always the innocent are the first victims," he said sorrowfully, "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

Hagrid continued to inquired about the unicorn, receiving only progress reports about the stars and planetary alignment in reply. Soon another centaur joined them - Bane, a black haired and bodied, wilder looking horse-man. He too commented about the interesting night sky.

"Good-bye Harry Potter," the centaurs said as the group continued their trek. Their voices were wistful and full of sorrow.

"Never," said Hagrid grumpily, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers."

"It wasn't a centaur we heard earlier though," Harry pouted, "was it Hagrid?"

"No, little daintly. What we heard - that's what's been killin' the unicorns if yeh ask me."

They made their way through the dense dark trees, keeping an eye out for spots of blood while navigating their way over the undergrowth. They had just passed a bend in the path when Hermione grabbed Hagrid's arm.

"Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!"

"You two wait here!" Hagrid shouted, "Don't move, I'll be back!"

They huddled together as Hagrid ran to find Ron and Draco. With each passing second they grew more and more worried about the two boys, running increasingly more gruesome scenarios through their minds as to what could have happened. 

At long last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return - he was fuming. "We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'"

"A tiny little spider dropped into his hair," Draco snickered, "so he sent up the red sparks and screamed like a girl."

Harry and Hermione shared a small giggle remembering Ron's previous girlish shriek in the girls bathroom.

Hagrid raised an eyebrow, "Maybe we'd better rearrange the groups. Ron, you stay with me -"

Ron breathed a very audible, very embarrassed, sigh of relief.

"- and let's see …" Hagrid looked between Harry and Hermione, unsure of which to send.  
"I'll go Hagrid," Harry jumped in, he didn't want to send Hermione anywhere with Draco.

Draco and Harry made their way back through the forest with the great dog, though Fang seemed much happier hiding behind their legs than leading them through the dark path. They followed the spots of unicorn blood, which seemed to be growing thicker. Harry could see a clearing ahead.

He gasped. Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. The boys who hadn't spoken a word to each other in weeks, clutched hands and trembled inch by inch toward the clearing.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and so sad. He was just about to move closer towards it when a slithering sound stopped him in his tracks. A cloaked figure appeared and crawled across the ground stopping at the unicorns side. It lowered its head over the animals wound and began drinking its blood.

"Stay away from her!" Harry screeched. The cloaked figure looked up from the unicorn, silver blood dripping from under the hood - it came to its feet and moved quickly toward him. A wave of pain rushed through Harry's scar. Hands grabbed him under his arms just as his knees were beginning to buckle, and began dragging him from the scene.

"RUN!" Draco yelled. The boys ran as fast as they could and didn't stop until they had nearly collapsed with exhaustion.

Harry sank into a tree trunk and pulled his knees up to his chest, his whole body was trembling.

"Hey," Draco panted and slumped down next to him, "Don't cry - that thing is gone, and Hagrid will find us in a minute." He sent a stream of red sparks into the air.

"I'm not afraid, Draco," Harry whimpered as his tears flowed freely. "It's the unicorn. How could anyone do that?" 

"I don't know," Draco whispered.

Harry wiped his eyes, "You probably just saved my life, thank you Draco."

Draco nodded. "What was that thing?"

"It had to be Quirrell," Harry motioned to his scar. 

"What did you think you were doing?" Draco was still catching his breath. "The unicorn was already dead - attacking Quirrell wouldn't have helped any."

"I just wanted it to get away from the unicorn, I wasn't going to attack him."

"Oh yes you were - you had that same look in your eyes - um - right before you tackled me."

"Oh," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry about that, Draco. I hope I didn't hurt you."

"It's alright," Draco shrugged, the moon casting just enough light to make out the blush inching along his cheeks. "Madam Pomfrey fixed me right up … Where did you learn to fight like that?"  
"Learn?" Harry puzzled, "Heavens, I don't know … I guess I just paid attention."

"Attention to what?"  
Harry pushed his lip out in a deep pout, "It doesn't matter."

"You can trust me, Harry." Draco groaned, "Look, I'm sorry about what I said."

Harry sighed and nodded.

"Friends, then?"

"I … I don't think so, Draco."

"But -" Draco sputtered, "I said I was sorry - and I mean it, Harry."

"I know," Harry's lip trembled. "But sometimes that's just not good enough."

"Harry - I just saved your life!"

"If it was a muggle-born here instead of me - would you have saved them?"

"I … I don't know."

Harry pulled his wand out in a flash,

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed his eyes widening in shock.

"Shush, I hear something." Padded footsteps could be heard, getting louder and louder with each second. "Fang!" Harry gushed and the huge boarhound bounded upon him. The dog inched behind him and whined at a rustling in the leaves ahead.

"Are you alright?" a rich, smooth voice rang out and a centaur stepped out from behind a tree. It wasn't Ronan or Bane; this one was much younger and prettier, with a palomino body and glistening white-blond hair. "I saw what happened and followed you here." 

"We're fine," Harry cooed, "Thank you."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Is that thing still around?"

"He may still be in the forest but you are safe for the moment," 

"What about the unicorns?" Harry whimpered, "Will they be safe?"

The centaur turned to Harry and peered at the livid scar on his forehead. "Harry Potter. Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

Harry shook his head, "We've never used unicorn blood for anything."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn. Only one who has nothing to lose but everything to gain would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive even if you are an inch from death but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself and you will have a half life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

"But Professor Quirrell isn't dying, is he?" Draco broke in. "Why would he do that?"

"Do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Sorcerer's Stone? But -"  
"Little dainty! Draco! Are you alrigh'?"

"Hagrid!" they exclaimed. 

"Are you alrigh'?" he scooped the boys up into a bone crushing hug just as Ron and Hermione caught up to the group. 

"Hagrid - it's Quirrell and he's killing the unicorns to stay alive so he can go after the stone and he's trying to kill me!"

"Calm down, little dainty." Hagrid set the boys down and turned to the centaur. "Thank you, Firenze." 

The centaur nodded and turned back to Harry, "Good-bye, Harry Potter," his smooth voice said quietly before cantering deep into the forest. 

Harry ruffled Harry's hair, "Even if Quirrell was after the stone - and I'm not saying he is - he still wouldn't be able to get at it. There's more than jus' Fluffy keeping it safe, little dainty - don't yeh worry." 

"More than Fluffy?" Harry asked wide eyed. "What do you mean?"  
"Dumbledore has a number of Professors each doing their part to keep it safe - and only he knows how to get past each of our guards."

"What Professors, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.

"Oh lets see - Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Dumbledore himself, I sent Fluffy, then there's Snape and Quirrell."

"Quirrell is supposed to be protecting the stone?" Draco scoffed.

"As I said, even if he was trying to get it, he'd have a time trying to get past the other professors guards."

"But Snape is probably helping him!"

"Then that still leaves me, McGonagall, Flitwick and Dumbledore. Unless you think we're all in on it."

Harry allowed himself a half grin, "Of course not, Hagrid … We saw him though - he drank the unicorn's blood." His lips were trembling again as pointed Hagrid in the unicorn's direction.

Once Hagrid had tended to the unicorn, they were able to return to the castle. The four were silent as they made their way through the halls, Draco branching off to head toward the Slytherin dorms. The Gryffindors maintained their silence and went straight to bed where each slept fitfully.

It wasn't until the next morning that Harry recounted the full tale of the previous night.

"Maybe he really is dying," Hermione whispered.

"He must have lost his hair or has a big scar or something - why else would he wear that god awful turban?"

"I didn't know wizards could get sick like that though." 

"Maybe he got part of his head bit off?" Ron suggested, setting aside his plate of scrambled eggs with ketchup. The morning post arrived then and the group distracted themselves from the gory details.

"That's Malfoy's owl, Harry." Ron said as the grand eagle owl made its way to their seats. "I can't believe he went and bought you a present - after I told him not to!"

Harry's pout deepened, "I don't want it."

The eagle owl circled the group, seeming to inspect each of them, before dropping the package lightly into a very astonished lap.

Neville leaned over to look at the slim box, "It's not a mistake! Hermione's name is on it."

The shell shocked girl opened the box slowly, finally revealing an exquisite lemon yellow quill and a matching bottle of ink. A sheet of parchment lay folded underneath which she opened and read to herself.

Ron leaned across the table and tried to snatch the letter from her hands, though she deftly moved it from his reach and tucked it into her book bag.

"What did he say?" Neville asked.

"He says he's sorry." Hermione blushed. 

Harry scooted around in his chair to see Draco watching intently from the Slytherin table. Harry eyes sparkled, and his lips curled into a full grin for the first time in ages.

"Finally!" Ron exclaimed, "Now I'll stop getting all those funny looks when people see us in the library alone - I swear people think he's my boyfriend."

"Actually, Ron," Hermione winked at Harry, "I've heard people say that Harry and Draco's potions fight was really over _you_."

"What?!"

The reunited four met in the library that evening. 

"Oh, Draco!" Harry squealed before enveloping the boy in a hug.

"Don't get too excited," Draco grinned, "It may turn out that I truly don't like her, you know."

Hermione giggled, "Well seeing as I already don't like _you,_ that will be fine."

"And there's still my father." Draco turned serious. "The only reason he even lets me come to Hogwarts is because he's on the board of governors here, so it's expected of me. But he's just looking for a reason to pull me out."

Harry looked horrified, he really had missed Draco terribly during the past few weeks and couldn't imagine if he had to leave completely. "But he wouldn't - would he?" Draco shrugged.

"We'll think of something, Malfoy." 

They turned to their books and began comparing study notes with Draco - who's format, oddly enough was comparable to Hermione's. Draco peered at Harry's hand, then turned to Ron's then Hermione's. "You don't like the quills?" he asked, his eyebrows and mouth downcast into a mild sort of frown.

"What are you on about?" Ron muttered.

"Quills - I gave you guys quills at Christmas -"

"What?" Harry squealed with glee. "They're gorgeous! Of course we like them." 

"So why aren't you using them?"

Their mouths dropped open, "Because they're so pretty," Harry finally answered, 

"We can't just use quills like that to take notes!" Hermione added.

The almost frown disappeared being replaced with a quizzical puzzlement, "But that's the whole point of having nice things, you guys," Draco grinned. "If all your good stuff just sits on the shelf - how is everyone going to know you have it?"

The Gryffindors and Slytherins sat down to their last potions class before exams. Ron, Harry, Hermione and Draco each pulled out their brand new royal blue, lilac, lemon, and silver designer quills - shared an aristocratic nod between them and dipped into their brand new matching designer ink wells.


	15. Through the Trapdoor

****

Chapter 16 – Through the Trapdoor

"If Quirrell really is dying - why doesn't he just take the stone?" Draco asked, "Why go through the bother of killing unicorns first?"

"Maybe he doesn't know how to get past all the guards yet - so the unicorn blood buys him time." Hermione guessed. "A better question is, if he's dying - why doesn't he just have Madam Pomfrey heal him - or go to St. Mungo's?"

"Maybe they've tried everything and nothing is working?" Ron ventured.  
"Humph," Harry sniffed, "Seems a bit mean to make a dying man protect the elixir of life if you ask me."

"Maybe they don't know." Hermione mused. "Or maybe he's not really dying."

"Then why kill the unicorns?" Draco wondered. "He didn't take the blood for someone else - we saw _him_ drinking it himself."

"Then there are the centaurs," Hermione continued. "Did you hear the way Firenze said good-bye to Harry? Bane and Ronan were even worse!"  
"You think they saw my death in the stars?" Harry squirmed.

"Professor McGonagall says that fortune telling is a very imprecise branch of magic - but still, to hear those centaurs say good-bye …" she shivered. "And what about what Ronan said about the innocent always being the first victims? The first victims of what?"

"War." Draco said nonchalantly. The four fell quiet and peeked around the library to ensure their privacy yet again.

"And another thing," Hermione continued, keeping her voice down, " - why is the Sorcerer's Stone so well protected? Six different professors plus Hagrid are guarding it!"

"I know - you'd think it was the end of the world or something." Ron said. "I mean really - who cares if someone steals it? That Flamel guy has been using it for a good 400 years and nobody seemed to mind."

"Seriously," Draco snorted, "you'd think the Dark Lord himself were after the damn thing!"

"Why do you call him that?" Ron groaned, "It's sounds so stupid."

"Better than _You-Know-Who_ if you ask me."

Hermione and Harry locked widened eyes.

"Funny coincidence, don't you think?" Hermione said under her breath.  
"That Yoo Hoo wanted immortality and also wanted me dead -"

"And now someone that wants you dead is after something that will make them immortal -" 

"And is busy drinking unicorn blood -"

"That will keep them alive even if they're an inch from death."

"You guys don't really think …" Ron sputtered.

"No, no, that's impossible," Harry giggled. "We know it's Quirrell that's after me - he's not Yoo Hoo."

"But Quirrell is the one who keeps setting off your scar," Draco said in awe, "the scar the Dark Lord gave you."

"They say Quirrell was fine until he went out to study dark creatures hands on - and he came back with his stutter and afraid of his own shadow." Hermione was breathless, "and you yourself said that being such a coward is the perfect cover for being a psycho killer."

"And I know for sure that Professor Snape was … involved back when the Dark Lord was taking over."

"You think they're trying to bring Voldemort back?" Harry whispered.

"I … I don't know what to think," Hermione moaned. "But I'm pretty sure it's not a good idea for Quirrell to get his hands on the Sorcerer's Stone."

Ron shook his head, "You guys - I don't know what you're all worrying about. Even if they're trying to bring You-Know-Who back, the stone has been here all year and they haven't managed to steal it yet. Professor Dumbledore was the only wizard You-Know-Who didn't want to mess with, you don't really think Snape and Quirrell have it in them to get past him, do you?"

"Ron's right," Hermione nodded, "As long as Professor Dumbledore's here, the stone is safe."

Harry and Draco nodded but still looked uneasy.

Exams came and went in a flash, and Harry did his best to work through the stabbing pains in his forehead that had been present ever since his trip in the forest. Neville thought that Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn't sleep but the truth was that Harry kept expecting Voldemort to burst into his room flanked by Snape and Quirrell.

Harry and Ron were lounging with the other Gryffindors after their last exam of the year. Hermione had gone to ask Professor McGonagall a question about the summer work for Transfiguration and they were all going to meet Hagrid for a celebratory tea later in the afternoon. A collective gasp ran through the common-room.

Hermione had burst through the portrait hole followed closely by Draco. Both were pale as death and Hermione was in near hysterics.

Before the stunned Gryffindors could say a word about the Slytherins presence, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and ran to the first year boys dorm. Only Neville was inside and he seemed doubly surprised to see a girl and a Slytherin in their room.

"Hermione!" Harry wailed, "What's happened?"

Hermione's lip trembled, "I just wanted to see!" she cried.

"I dared her to levitate his turban - and she did!" Draco gasped. "There was - a head - a face."

"What are you trying to say?" Ron grabbed his arm.  
"There was someone on the back of his head - that's who he's trying to keep alive with the unicorn blood - that - that _thing_ leeching off his head!"

"Was it Voldemort?" Harry whispered.  
"I don't know." Hermione sniffed.

"It wasn't anything good. It was like a snake - with red eyes."

"What happened?"  
"We ran like Fluffy's whole family was chasing us and tried to find Dumbledore -"

"And?!" Ron exclaimed.

"He's gone."

"What?" Ron gasped. "But - but the stone."

"We were trying to tell McGonagall but she wasn't listening." Draco sneered, "Quirrell is probably in the third floor corridor as we speak."

"What are you guys talking about?" Neville squeaked. 

"Neville," Harry started. "Something really bad is about to happen. And we have to stop it."

"How, Harry?" Ron moaned.

Harry shimmied his shoulders and planted his feet, "We'll have to get the stone ourselves - or at least stall him until a professor arrives."

"But Fluffy -"

"I've been thinking about that for ages," Harry began rummaging though his trunk until he found the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. "Hagrid knew that we had found Fluffy before Christmas, right? And he probably knew that we'd be sneaking back to peek at him. He knows I'm not really very musical - despite my best efforts - so why did he give me a flute?"

"Bit of a long-shot Harry." Draco said.

"But maybe Quirrell has already got past him so we won't have to do anything anyway." Ron added.

"And what happens if we catch up with Quirrell?" Draco scorned, "One of us hits him with the leg locker curse while Hermione stops blubbering long enough to set him on fire?"

"I guess if we see anything that looks like a weapon between here and the corridor," Ron shrugged, "we'll bring it with us."

The five students looked ghastly ill but made their way out of the dorm.

"You don't have to come with us Neville," Ron pointed out. Neville just shook his head and trembled his way through the common room and portrait hole.

"Hermione," Harry said gently, "Find Hagrid - or whatever Professor you see first - tell them everything and get them to the corridor as fast as you can."

Hermione nodded and threw her arms around Harry, "Be careful!" she cried before running down the hall.

The boys hurried to the corridor - grabbing the only weapon they could find along the way, a rusty sword an ailing suit of armour had dropped but whose back was too bad to let him bend down to pick up. 

They listened at the door and heard Fluffy whining loudly inside.

"We should start playing now - before we open the door." Ron suggested.

"I'll play," Neville whimpered.

"And if it doesn't work we'll slam the door shut and think of something else." Harry assured him. Neville began playing the flute while Ron and Draco inched the door open. They could hear the whining inside begin to quiet down as Neville continued to play.

"I think it's working!" Harry gushed in spite of himself. "Keep playing Neville."

The four made their way into the corridor and were met by a terrible sight. Fluffy had curled into a ball and was now sleeping peacefully - but a gash on his side was bleeding profusely. The trapdoor was open.

"Quirrell!" Ron cursed.

"Hermione should be back with a professor soon Neville - move outside the door as soon as we're through and just keep playing until they get here." Harry patted the boys back, "Fluffy's hurt - and it'll be better for him if he just stays asleep until someone can take care of him." 

Neville nodded fearfully and the other three eased through the trapdoor.

They fell and fell and seemed to keep falling until - 

****

FLUMP. They landed softly on what seemed to be some sort of plant.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really." Ron muttered before letting out a strangled cry. The plant had twisted tendrils around his legs without him noticing and was now creeping around his arms and neck.

"Eeeek!" Harry cried as he noticed the plant binding his legs. Draco began chopping at the plant with the rusty sword until he himself was free then kept on chopping until Ron and Harry were able to squirm away.

"That was the most manual labour I've ever done in my life!" Draco cursed. Ron snorted and Harry burst into nervous giggles.

"Two guards down - five more to go," Ron whispered as they hurried down the stone passage they were on. 

They were soon in a chamber closed off by a huge locked wooden door. With brooms to one side and what seemed to be hundreds of keys flying in the high arched ceiling, Harry soon found himself on a very impromptu Quidditch pitch - looking for, by Ron's estimation, a large old silver key. Between the three of them, they managed to trap the key and stuff it into the lock. They pulled the door open. 

Harry panted and clutched onto the broom, having the broom-handle in his hands calmed him down, "What's this?" he asked as he looked around. Light flooded through the room and before them stood the backs of two rows of men - who looked as though they were carved out of black stone. They were at the edge of an enormous chess board and far across the way the white pieces could be seen.

"Do you play, Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"Ermm." Draco squirmed.

"Ron," Harry huffed, "Just tell us what to do!"

"I think we have to play our way across, we'll have to switch places with three of the black pieces on the board." Ron scrutinized the faceless stone forms, "Draco, take the bishop and Harry, you'll be the queen."

Draco snorted.

"I will not!" Harry huffed. "If this is a live game of wizards chess I'd rather we settle into the positions least likely to get smashed to bits, thank you very much!"

Ron turned a deep shade of red, "Er - right. Switch with the King then - "  
"Isn't the King the target?" Draco sneered.

"Yes but it'll also be our most protected game piece - I'll play so that if we lose all the other pieces will have been taken first."

"Funny how that doesn't reassure me in the slightest," Harry whined as the King vacated his position.

"Malfoy - switch with the rook." 

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"I'll leave that rook untouched in case we need to castle later on." Ron took a deep breath and patted a knight on the shoulder, it bowed and left his post.

"But -" Harry started.

"- I need to be able to see the whole board, Harry - I can't do that if I'm stuck in a useless position." A moment later a white piece moved two spaces forward, starting the game.

It was a brutal contest and the white pieces were ferocious, the board was littered with mangled chessmen.

"We're nearly there," Ron murmured, gazing across the board. The white queen seemed to turn her faceless stare his way. "Yes …" he said softly, "it's the only way … I'll take one step forward, and the queen will take me. Then you'll move that bishop to checkmate the king."

"Take you?" Draco puzzled, "But -"  
"Ron no!" Harry squealed.

"Look, I don't reckon we can just stop playing - and there's no other way. If we don't take our chance to win right now we might not get another try." Ron squinted his eyes shut and lifted his foot.

"Wait!" Harry cried. "Cover your head before you move!" 

Ron nodded and huddled under his arms before stepping forward. The white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard around his head and arms with her stone fist and he crashed to the floor. 

Harry wailed while Draco instructed their bishop to take the opposing king. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. Harry and Draco charged through the door and up the next passageway. They reached another door and found a troll even larger than the one from Hallowe'en lying flat on the floor, apparently out cold. They went through yet another door and immediately purple fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. Black flames sprang up in the doorway leading onwards, they were trapped. Inside the room was a table with seven differently-shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's" Draco muttered. They picked up a scroll lying next to the bottles and read -

"A riddle." Harry groaned. "We don't have time for this!" He stuffed the parchment in Draco's arms and began peering intently at each bottle. "It's this one!" he cried picking up the smallest bottle.

"How do you know?" Draco awed.

"It's the only one with lip-prints." Harry held up the bottle to the light, "There's only enough for one swallow. I'll take it - 

"You can't!" Draco exclaimed, "What if the Dark Lord is already alive again?"

Harry reached for Draco's rusty sword and tucked the broom under his arm, "I got lucky once with him, didn't I? And I just have to hold him off until a Professor comes." He lifted up the bottle, "Since you know this one sends us forward, it shouldn't be too hard to work backwards in the riddle to figure out which one will take you through the purple flames." 

"Harry -" Draco sputtered.

Harry downed the remaining potion and kissed Draco full on the mouth before turning and jumping through the black flames. 


	16. The Man with Two Faces

**Chapter 17 – The Man with Two Faces**

The pain in Harry's scar doubled as he burst into the final chamber.  

Quirrell whipped his now clumsily covered head around in a flash.

"I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter," he said calmly.

"Does Snape know you're here," Harry asked, climbing astride his broom, "– or are you and your extra head going to run off without him?"

"Severus?" Quirrell barked out an incredulous laugh but the usual quiver was gone, replaced with a cold sharp sound.  "Yes, Severus does seem the type doesn't he?  Swooping around like an overgrown bat.  I had hoped his antics would draw suspicion from p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell."

"A little obvious if you ask me." Harry kept glancing at the turban tied head, wondering if he would see what Hermione and Draco had spied beneath.  "You and Snape are both working alone then?  Won't he be surprised to see you've beaten him."

"Working alone?" Quirrell laughed again, "You stupid boy, Snape isn't after the Stone, he's been trying to keep me from it."

"What about the Quidditch match?  I know you tried to kill me then – but Snape was cursing me as well."

"Ha!" Quirrell spat, "That fool was muttering a counter-curse, I would have had you off that broom if it wasn't for him.  Your friend Miss Granger knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape.  She broke my eye contact.  I must admit, it was almost worth the failed attempt to see him on fire."  He clucked his tongue and narrowed his eyes at Harry.  "You're too nosy to live, Potter." Quirrell growled, "Skipping around the school, keeping your eye on me in class -"

"Of course I was keeping an eye on you!" Harry squealed, "You tried to kill me!  You attacked me that day at Gringott's – oh you horrible, horrible man! Grabbing at my bits and pieces without so much as an how do!" 

Quirrell shook his head slightly and the cruel smile vanished from his lips.  He snapped his fingers and ropes sprang out of thin air, wrapping themselves tightly around Harry.

"Eeek!" Harry squealed and tried to shift the broom from its squashed position between his legs.

"Now wait quietly Potter.  I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Harry could see The Mirror of Erised standing tall behind Quirrell and knew that this was the last defense, Dumbledore's own, protecting the Stone.  All he could do was keep Quirrell distracted until Hermione arrived with help.

"I don't know why Snape didn't turn you in when he had the chance," Harry ventured coyly.  "He's a much more powerful wizard than you, he could have found a way to make you confess." 

Quirrell's eyes narrowed angrily but he soon smirked.  "He did try to frighten me – as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side …"

"So you _are trying to bring old Yoo Hoo back," Harry forced himself to giggle, "He sure doesn't keep high standards, does he?  Imagine laying all your hopes on a man with a face on the back of his head."_

Quirrell stormed out from behind the mirror where he had been examining the structure.

"You will not speak against my master." The tremble had returned to Quirrell's voice, though now from rage rather than feigned cowardice.

"Your master?" Harry squeaked.  "You mean – that's really Voldemort – on your head?"

"Lord Voldemort," Quirrell growled again.

"Lord," Harry twittered nervously, "I find it very hard to believe that the Queen herself agreed to knight that thing on your head – so he's not a real Lord, is he?"

"Shut up, boy," Quirrell turned back to the mirror, "I have work to do."  He stared hungrily into the mirror and muttered to himself. "I see the Stone … I'm presenting it to my master _Lord Voldemort … but where is it?"_

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give.  He _had _to get Quirrell's attention again – before he figured out how to find the Stone!

"Can I meet him?" He blurted out.

Quirrell rounded on him, "How dare you."

"Well why not?" Harry pouted.  "I want to know the face of the man who killed my parents!"  

A high voice came from Quirrell's head – the face!

"Yes … Let me speak to him … face to face … quickly now, we have little time."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough … for this …"

Quirrell turned his back to Harry and quickly pulled off the sloppily wrapped turban.  A chalk-white face stared menacingly at Harry with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.  

"Harry Potter …" it whispered, "See what I have become?" the face said.  "Mere shadow and vapour … I have form only when I can share another's body .. .but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds … Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks … you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest … and when I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own - "

"Yes, well, hopefully this Elixir of Life improves your face a bit." Harry burst out, "Goodness, were you this ugly before I ruined you?"

The red eyes narrowed, and the high voice hissed, "Brave, but as foolish as your parents.  I killed your father first you know, he put up a courageous fight … but your mother needn't have died … the foolish girl was trying to protect you -"

"Bet you wish she had done a better job of it, huh?"  

Voldemort peered intently into Harry's eyes before the flat lips curved into a sinister grin. "Use the boy," he hissed to Quirrell.  

"The boy, master?" Quirrell questioned.

"He knows how to use the mirror."

Quirrell turned back to face Harry and nodded obediently, he clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off.

The broom eased down from its strangle hold and in a flash Harry was in the air leaning flat against the broom-handle pushing it to its highest speed. 

Quirrell had time only to widen his eyes before Harry's speeding broom knocked him to the ground where he was assaulted in a flurry of slaps, squeals, and fists.  

"My face!" Quirrell screamed.  

Harry was startled just enough to pause, he saw Quirrell's face blistering where he had made contact.  He gasped at the smell of burning flesh and squealed in horror.  

Quirrell took his chance to wrestle Harry off of him and climbed to his feet.  Yelling curses and still doubled over from the broomstick charge, he pinned Harry's arms behind his back and awkwardly marched him in front of the mirror.  

"Well," Quirrell gasped.  "What do you see?"

Harry whimpered and peered into the mirror.  

"First of all," Harry screwed up his courage and tossed his head, "I must say I'm having the best hair day _ever_."  

Quirrell snarled behind him and squeezed Harry's arms tighter.

"Eeek!" Harry squealed, "okay okay!  And now I see – Yea! - I see Professor Snape and Hagrid bursting in to save me!"  

Quirrell whipped around to face the chamber entrance, a green light already flashing from the wand now in his hand.  Harry stuck his tongue out at Voldemort and swept his knee up with all his might.  Quirrell doubled over once again with a horrible groan.  Harry jumped up onto Quirrell's back and used both hands to grab at his and Voldemort's faces.  The smell of burning flesh was horrible, made worse by the muffled screams of those burning and the now searing pain in Harry's scar.  Harry was dizzy with the pain and slowly began to lose his grip on Quirrell's head.  He held on for as long as he could but the pain in his scar was terrible and the world soon began to blur at the edges.

Harry was only vaguely aware of the dark, blurred form prying him from the silently screaming, writhing body of Quirrell.  His vision began to clear an instant later when the pain in his scar suddenly ceased.  He gasped and found that he was slung over somebody's shoulders, someone who certainly wasn't Hagrid, he tried to free himself but didn't have the energy to do more than struggle weakly.

"Keep still, Potter," a familiar voice intoned.

"Professor Snape?" Harry mumbled, "You saved me … you saved me again …"  He found the energy to raise his head and saw that Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were also in the room.  Quirrell lay still, Voldemort side down on the floor, his face a series of blisters and charred flesh.  

"Professor Snape?" Harry whimpered, "I think I'm going to be sick."  Snape set him down on the ground in a flash and Professor McGonagall quickly transfigured a bucket for him to barf into.  She rubbed Harry's back and held him to her chest once he was done, and Flitwick cast a mint-tooth charm for him.

"Mister Potter," Professor McGonagall began, "- "

"My scar doesn't hurt anymore." Harry interrupted turning to Snape, "Does that mean he's dead?"

"No," came a slightly shaky version of Snape's usual snarl.  "He has simply left Quirrell's body.  Quirrell, however …"

"You mean – Quirrell's – I -" Harry was becoming hysterical.

"You didn't kill him, Potter," Snape said impatiently, "Voldemort's departure from his mind was likely just too much for his body."

"Is Ron okay?  And Draco?"

"Professor Sprout is taking Mister Weasley to the hospital wing as we speak," Professor McGonagall took over again, "He will be fine.  And Mister Malfoy …"

"Mister Malfoy," Professor Flitwick giggled, "is dancing a jig in the other chamber.  He too will be taken to the hospital wing, where he will be given a sober-up potion and a hangover remedy."

Harry woke early the next morning nestled in crisp white linen, two beds down from Neville and between Ron and Draco in the hospital wing.  

"Are you awake?" Draco whispered from his left.

"Yeah," Harry yawned, "What's happened to Neville?" 

"Oh," Draco smirked, "He played the flute till he passed out so he spent the night in here."

Harry nodded and soon began to blush.  "Draco?" he giggled nervously, "About yesterday … I'm – um – sorry about … well, you know."  

"Uh -" Draco stammered with a blush.

"It's just - I kind of thought I was going to die or something – and I couldn't very well die without having ever kissed a boy before, right?"

"Uh -"

"And you were right there – I would have kissed whoever was there – well I wouldn't have kissed Vincent or Gregory.  Probably not Neville either even though he is a dear.  I might have kissed Ron – ooh – I _definitely would have kissed either Fred or George – actually I would have kissed both of them.  And Oliver – if Oliver was there I would have kissed him.  Heck I may even have kissed Hermione!"_

"Harry," Draco stopped Harry's ramblings, "don't worry about it."

"Really?" Harry squealed quietly.

"Yeah.  It's okay," Draco paused.  "But … if you thought you were going to die – then why did you go in there?"

"Because we had to stop him," Harry explained.  "If Voldemort was brought back to life – the whole world would be in danger.  We couldn't let that happen, you know that."

"I … I don't think I would have gone through the flames," Draco blushed.

"I don't know about that, Draco," Harry grinned, "I mean, _you weren't likely to be number one on Bonnet Head's hit list were you?  But you still made it all the way to the sixth chamber – and you nearly died in there you know, you're lucky you drank the wine instead of the poison."_

Draco blushed again, "It's your fault for kissing me like that – you ruined my concentration."  The boys giggled before a confused look came over Draco's face, "Bonnet head?"

"Oh honey, you saw him – don't you think it was just like Quirrell was wearing -"

"A lady's bonnet!" Draco grinned then gritted he's teeth, "My father would kill me if he heard me say that!"  

The two giggled again but Harry soon reddened a second time.

"I really am sorry about the kiss Draco – I know I probably shouldn't have done that." 

"I said it was okay."

"Still … I promise it won't happen again."

"Uh – oh … Okay." 

"I think I'm going to sneak out before Madam Pomfrey comes in to check on us." Harry climbed out of bed and padded across the room to give Ron and Neville hugs while they slept.

"Are you sure you're alright?" 

"Uh-huh." Harry nodded and tiptoed to the door.  "I'll see you after the game – don't forget to take your hangover remedy!" he giggled and tiptoed out the door.  

"He kissed me!  He kissed me!" Harry jumped up and down after he emerged from the changing rooms.  There were still students standing out on the Quidditch pitch discussing the game.  He found Hermione and the two made their way to Hagrid's to meet their friends for a post game tea before joining the Gryffindors for the celebration.

"He kissed your forehead, Harry," Hermione smirked in a very Draco like fashion, "That doesn't count."

Harry gasped, "I bet Oliver has never kissed anything other than a Quidditch ball and a broomstick – so it does so count!" 

"Vincent and Greggory are going to be inside – so I wouldn't mention it there if I were you."

Harry nodded and knocked on the door.  In one fell swoop Hagrid opened the door, scooped Harry up and just managed to avoid crushing the small boy to death.  He finally set Harry down at the table where the full group of Gryffindors and Slytherins sat waiting.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed jumping up to hug his friend.

"Pomfrey kept me in the hospital wing until after the game," Ron moaned, "she thought it would be too much excitement for me." 

"Oh who gives a poop about the game!" Harry squealed, "I'm just glad you're alright."  He presented Ron with the game winning, Quidditch cup sealing Snitch and settled back into his seat.  For once, no one wanted to talk about Quidditch and all words turned to the events of the day before.  The story began at the beginning since Neville only knew a bit of the tale and Crabbe and Goyle didn't know anything.  

"I ran to Hagrid's and told him that you all had gone after the Stone," Hermione continued the tale breathlessly, "He found Professor Snape and _ordered him to gather the other Professors who were protecting the Stone.  I swear, Professor Snape was more scared of Hagrid then of the idea of You Know Who coming back!"_

"We found Neville outside the corridor," Hagrid ruffled Neville's hair, "If he hadn't kept playin', poor Fluffy would 'ave died in there.  The other Professors went through the trapdoor – I couldn't fit, so I took care of Neville an' Fluffy instead.  The Professors cancelled their protections ter get ter yeh, Little Dainty, an' reached yeh jus' in time." Hagrid turned to Ron.  "Professor Sprout took yeh up ter the hospital wing when they found yeh, gave them the scare o' their lives, yeh did."

The bits and pieces of their story that found their way into the castle were met with disbelief, though once the drastic changes to the house point count were made, no one could dispute that something enormous had occurred and the odd pairing of Gryffindor and Slytherin first years were at the heart of it.  

"Dumbledore gave me points 'For the best played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years.'" Ron grinned.

"'For rescuing a dying animal even at the risk of my own peril.'" Neville grinned and blushed.

"'For pure nerve and outstanding courage.'" Harry added.

"Mine were 'For standing alongside my friends and putting others before myself,' Draco blushed as well.  "Dumbledore said he was really proud of the decisions I've made this year."  The others shared a grin as Draco's blush deepened.

"You should have got points too, Hermione," Ron complained.

"Nah," Hermione shook her head, "I'm lucky I didn't lose points for levitating Professor Quirrell's turban – he was a Professor at the time you know … I can't believe he's really dead."

The others nodded, subdued.  

"I still don't know what to tell my Father," Draco said quietly.  "He's definitely going to hear about this."

"Crabbe and Goyle know not to mention You Know Who to their parents," Ron said, "As long as you don't either, he'll never hear about that part." 

"I meant - "

"He meant _me_, Ron," Hermione explained, "But I think it's pretty obvious, Draco."

All eyes turned to Hermione.

"Tell him what Professor Dumbledore said -"

"My father can't stand Dumbledore -"

"Sure but he'll love the idea that you're in good with him, that Dumbledore trusts you."

Draco sat silently for a moment before breaking into a trademark smirk, "That could work." 

The year end feast was a night to remember for all.  Since Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had endured the odd looks from the Gryffindors while attending their Quidditch cup celebration, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had agreed to shock the school by sitting at the Slytherin table during the feast.  The Slytherins were surprisingly hospitable, likely as they had just edged Gryffindor out of the house cup.

Their exam results arrived and to everyone's surprise, they all came through with good marks.  Even Crabbe and Goyle passed every class with just shy of decent grades – both of whom thanked Hermione awkwardly and profusely for her study help.  Hermione, however received the shock of her life.

"You beat me," she said, astonished, as she glanced over Harry's results.  "You beat me in potions."  

"Don't worry, Hermione," Harry consoled, "You still came in top of our year."  Harry too found himself near the top of the list as well.

And just like that, the year was done.  Harry spent the last moments before the summer began, in Hagrid's hut chatting with Hagrid and playing with Fang.

"Yeh'll be alrigh' with them muggles, Little Dainty?" Hagrid asked again.

"I'll be fine, Hagrid." 

"Well …" Hagrid grinned, "I've got yeh a present."  He presented Harry with a handsome leather-covered book.  Harry opened it and saw that it was full of wizard photographs.  "Those're yer parents, Harry – with their ol' school friends an' such."

Harry teared up and looked at the couple featured in each picture closely.  

"I really do have her eyes!" he exclaimed.

"And yer Da's vision." Hagrid chuckled tearfully as well and the two made their way out of the hut so Hagrid could lead the students down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake.  

Once aboard the Hogwarts Express the group of Gryffindors and Slytherins sat snacking and laughing, watching the scenery go by and reviewing the do's and don'ts regarding what the Slytherins would tell their parents about the events of the year.  

"And you guys have to remember not to write about anything important if you owl us." Draco repeated.

"You don't really think your father would read your post, do you?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think so but it's better not to take the chance."

It took quite some time for them all to get off the platform and into King's Cross station, Ron and Harry made sure that they were the last of their group to cross through.

"Take good care of Twinkle," Harry poked his finger through Twinkle's cage to pet her goodbye.  "Make sure Fred and George don't turn her polka dotted or anything, it's so last season."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ron asked again.  "Just spend the summer with me – we'll figure out a way to explain it to my parents."

"Stop worrying, Ron," Harry grinned.  "I will come to your house on the first of August, you know I can't spend longer than that with you without raising suspicion.  I'll be fine in the meantime, I promise."

"But you can't go back to your Uncle's house – what are you going to do?  Where are you going to go?"  
Harry grinned, "Harry Potter is going to camp!"

The end 

** The amount of points Professor Snape takes after the potions fight has changed to allow for Slytherin winning the house cup.


	17. Authors Notes

Hello,

If you're reading this that means you've made it all the way through, to the end of the story! And if you did that, you must have liked it – I would hope that if you thought it royally sucked you would have hit the back button by chapter 2! In any case, thanks for reading, I hope you laughed your ass off. I certainly did while writing this damn thing. 

Anyhow, just wanted to let you know that there will certainly be a sequel. I didn't want to write it, since I know it's just an excuse for me to procrastinate from my own works - but I can't NOT write it! It's too bloody funny not to write. I'd go crazy giggling to myself about all the things that could happen if I didn't! So in an effort to preserve what's left of my sanity, Harry Potter and the Slippery Secret (i.e. book 2) has begun. The first chapter has just been uploaded. 

Also, I wanted to thank all of my reviewers. As HP and the PSB was my first venture into fan fiction I must say that I was both surprised and delighted with the reviews that were left for me. It's a wild sort of rush to know that someone is actually reading my story! 

Have a good one!

****

A note about the story. Personally I think it fits together pretty well and to me, the events that take place make sense. So, for those of you who may have been wondering what I was thinking while compiling the story, this is for you:

Harry doesn't see anything in the Mirror of Erised because he's completely happy. Everything he's ever really wanted - to be accepted (the flamboyant gay thing), to have friends (he now has plenty), to have a home (Hogwarts) – he has. He's pretty independent and accepting of his circumstances so it just didn't seem to fit that he would crave his parents and a traditional family. 

Ron doesn't see himself as the Quidditch/Head Boy in the Mirror because he already stands apart from the other Weasleys. Bill's the Head Boy, Charlie's the Quidditch Captain, Percy's the brain, Fred & George are the jokers, Ginny's the girl, and Ron is the one who's hanging out with a Malfoy. The obvious replacement for this hearts desire to stand out would likely be the money issue – Ron should see himself as being very rich. But most of Ron's money woes are built upon the Malfoy teasing in the books. Since Draco doesn't make fun of the Weasleys finances, Ron has little need to feel insecure – especially with someone like Harry around who is handy with a needle and thread and more than accustomed to 'making do.' 

Draco and Ron are grudgingly friends. They're 11 and when they meet on the train the only history they have is through family reputation. If I had written this as a fifth year book or something like that - they're friendship might be a huge stretch but I think it fits pretty well for people who have really just met. Both of them want to be friends with Harry which means they have to find a way to get along. Ron and Harry are closer than Harry and Draco which means that it's Draco who more often has to hold his tongue. They meet on the train and compete for the floor during their Quidditch talk but I think the actual friendship begins when Draco makes fun of Hermione after she embarrasses Ron about the smudge on his nose. Ron likes how the Weasley/Malfoy friendship makes him stand out, and Draco likes having people he can actually talk to – being with Crabbe and Goyle sounds really boring to me! And as they're Gryffindors who don't care about the Malfoy name, they're not just sycophants trying to get in with his father. They're both very protective of Harry which helps the friendship along. 

I don't think the timing is too far off regarding the Gringotts break-in. Hagrid and Harry spend quite a bit of time at the Dursley house before setting off for Diagon Alley, so they would have reached the bank much later than in the book. I figure the Malfoys are REALLY rich and Draco will have spent ALL DAY being fitted for various robes - so despite the delay at the Dursley house and the Gringott's robbery, they still get to meet in Madam Malkin's (yes, this is a stretch but I really wanted them to meet there!) 

Harry is only eleven but he already knows he likes boys - I don't know a ton of gay people but of those I know, they (especially guys) all kind of knew something was up by the time they were 7 or 8, they might not have known they were gay exactly but they know something was a little different, of course it wasn't something they said out loud because they learned very early on not to. And there are always a couple of boys that just like to do the traditionally girlie things - Harry happens to be one of them that happens also to be gay. In any case, this part is allowed to be unbelievable - the whole point of the story was to make him really flamboyantly gay so who cares how it happened? 

Being not just gay but really REALLY flamboyantly so in the Dursley household takes guts and a certain strength of character that J.K Rowling's Harry doesn't have. And that's where the main changes to Harry's personality arise. He's pretty damn independent - because he has to be. He couldn't be flamboyant otherwise. He refuses to be anything other than himself - for the same reason, and this leads to him being a bit rebellious (like really liking reading when the Dursleys deny him books). He also has learned to read people pretty well - knowing just how far he can push the Dursleys before he really gets into trouble etc. He won't stand for anyone being treated badly - the way he was at the Dursleys, especially for things they have no control over, especially now that he's in a place where he's accepted. He's no hypocrite. 

Hermione gets to be a bit girlier because she's not around two 'boy' boys. Harry's boy enough that he wouldn't annoy her like Lavender and Parvati but girly enough to bring out other aspects of her girly self 

As mentioned in the first couple of paragraphs in 'The Letters From No One' Harry played with the girls at old school sometimes thus his access to the Ken doll - I know, Mattel is an American company but Barbie and Ken are very much alive and well, throughout much of the world (I'm not a Barbie fan at all and had quite a bit of fun - ahem - sticking it to Ken). 

Draco comes through with the Hermione friendship for a few reasons. 1, he wants to be friends with Harry. I wouldn't imaging that he's ever had proper friends before so losing Harry would be a big one - especially since Crabbe and Goyle have loyalties to Harry as well. Also, spending time being teased about blindly following his father might lead to him opening his eyes a bit. And of course, he's 11, Hermione's a cool chic, and it's fun to get one past Daddy. 

As Hagrid says to Harry, they're in a world where people are breeding with giants, werewolves are running around, and most of the men would do anything to jump a Veela (which seem to be kind of vulturelike half the time if I remember book 4 correctly) - so it seems pretty reasonable that being accepting of same sex relationships is the norm. I would imagine that in a society like that way more people would be openly gay - or bi - or would at least dabble with the bi experience. So if Harry openly has a crush on Fred and George or kisses Draco and it turns out none of them are gay - who cares? It would be just like being hit-on by someone you're not attracted to - of the gender you _are _attracted to. No biggie. 


End file.
